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An Introductory 
Study of Ethics 



An Introductory 
Study of Ethics 



BY 

WARNER FITE 



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PREFACE 

The study of conduct which is here offered to students 
and teachers of philosophy was begun with the intention of 
furnishing simply a plain statement of the existing ethical 
situation, — by which I mean an analysis of the moral 
problem and a definition of the several types of ethical 
theory. But it was found impossible to make a plain state- 
ment without adopting a point of view for the definition of 
the problem and the theories in question. And in the search 
for a satisfactory point of view I have been led to a more or 
less independent reconstruction of the situation as a whole. 
In a study like ethics, where nothing can be uttered which 
has not been in a measure foreshadowed, it is difficult to 
know how far one has succeeded in really contributing to 
the discussion ; yet I hope that the following pages may be 
found not only useful to students beginning the study but of 
interest to those already familiar with its problems. 

I hope also that they may appeal to some who are not, in 
the stricter sense, students of philosophy. Without ignoring 
the necessities of scientific treatment I have endeavoured to 
avoid some of its narrower limitations and to meet the point 
of view of the educated man. There is a large public of 
thoughtful persons whose attitude toward philosophical study 
is one of serious interest yet at the same time somewhat 



VI PREFACE 

sceptical, and to whom probably every student of philosophy 
has felt the need of justifying the claims of his subject. I 
believe that an introductory study for college purposes ought 
to be such as to meet this need, and that, on the other hand, 
a philosophical study addressed to college students would do 
well to presuppose in them the same breadth of interest and 
maturity of thought as is to be found in the educated man as 
such. This presupposition may frequently run counter to 
the facts, but even then it will offer probably the best method 
of securing a thoughtful interest in the subject. 



CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 
CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

The Scope and Method of Ethics 3 

1. Definition of Ethics 3 

2. The Practical Value of Ethics 8 

3. The Objective Character of Ethics II 

4. Is Ethics a Science or a Branch of Philosophy ? . . . 13 

5. Ethics and Cognate Studies 17 

CHAPTER II 

The Ethical Problem . . . . . . . . . 21 

1. Problems of Profession and Occupation . . . .21 

2. The Social Problem 25 

3. Personal Problems 26 

4. General Features of the Moral Problem .... 29 

5. The Forms of Ethical Theory . . , . . • " 31 



PART I 
HEDONISM 

CHAPTER III 

Empirical Hedonism: the Ethics of Happiness ... 37 

1. General Statement 37 

2. The Hedonistic Method 39 

3. The Resulting Conception of Pleasure . . . . . 44 

4. Pleasure and Duty 46 

5. Mill's Distinction of Quantity and Quality .... 52 

vii 



Vlll CONTENTS 



CHAPTER IV 

PAGE 

Scientific Hedonism: the Ethics of Self-preservation . 58 

1. Evolutionary Theory and Ethics 58 

2. Self-preservation and Pleasure 61 

3. The Meaning of Self-preservation 64 

4. Conformity to Environment 68 

CHAPTER V 

Hedonistic Social Theory 77 

1. Social Theory and Ethics 77 

2. The Hedonistic Motive for Social Effort .... 78 

3. The Conception of Self-interest 81 

4. Self-interest and the Greatest Happiness on the Whole . 86 

5. The Hedonistic Society 91 

CHAPTER VI 

Hedonism as a System of Philosophy 95 

1. The Hedonistic Standpoint and Method .... 95 

2. The Hedonistic Psychology 97 

3. The Hedonistic Biology 101 

4. The Hedonistic Cosmology 107 



CHAPTER VII 



112 
112 
117 

I2 5 

129 



Hedonism and Common Sense .... 

1. The Common-sense Scale of Values 

2. Hedonism and the Common-sense Scale 

3. The Outlook for a Future Complete Happiness 

4. The Positive Value of Hedonistic Theory 

CHAPTER VIII 

Hedonistic Social Theory and Common Sense . . .138 

1. Self-interest and Duty 138 

2. The Pleasures of Conscience 144 

3. The Advantages of the Average Man 146 

4. The Outlook for a Social Equilibrium 148 

5. The Positive Value of the Hedonistic Social Theory . . 150 



CONTENTS 



IX 



PART II 

IDEALISM 
CHAPTER IX 

PAGE 

Intuitionism : the Ethics of Conscience 161 

1. Definition of Intuitionism 161 

2. Perceptional Intuitionism 162 

3. ^Esthetic Intuitionism 165 

4. Dogmatic Intuitionism 167 

5. Mar tineau's Table of Springs of Action . . . .169 

CHAPTER X 



Rationalism: the Ethics of Principle 

1. Kant's Ethical Theory 

2. Kant's Practical Maxim : the Categorical Imperative 

3. The Insufficiency of the Categorical Imperative . 

4. The Positive Significance of Kant's View 



173 
173 
177 
180 
183 



CHAPTER XI 



Self-realisation : the Ethics of Purpose 

1. The Problem of Self . 

2. The Self of Hedonism . 

3. The Self of Idealism . 

4. Self and Self-realisation 

5. Self-realisation and Pleasure 

6. Self-realisation and Rationalism 



189 
189 
190 

193 
197 
198 
206 



CHAPTER XII 

Idealistic Social Theory 209 

1. The Hedonistic Individual and the Hedonistic Society . 209 

2. The Idealistic Individual 212 

3. The Idealistic Conception of Individuality . . . .219 

4. The Idealistic Society 220 

5. The Idealistic Conception of Social Duty .... 224 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER XIII 



Idealism as a System of Philosophy . 

1. The Idealistic Standpoint and Method 

2. The Idealistic Psychology 

3. The Idealistic Biology . 

4. The Idealistic Cosmology 



PAGE 

228 
228 
230 

235 
239 



CHAPTER XIV 



Idealism and Common Sense .... 

1. Idealism and the Common-sense Scale 

2. The Idealistic Significance of the Higher Virtues 

3. Idealistic Elements in the Social Problem 

4. The Limitations of Idealism .... 

5. Idealism and Hedonism .... 



245 
245 
247 

25 ! 

255 
26l 



CHAPTER XV 

Idealistic Social Theory and Common Sense 

1. Self-realisation and Duty 

(a) Self-respect and Duty 

(b) Duty and Respect for Others 

(c) Self-respect and Respect for Others 

(d) Respect for Private Interests 

2. The Conditions of an Idealistic Society 

3. The Limitations of the Idealistic Social Theory 



263 
263 
265 
270 
272 
276 
280 
281 



PART III 



HEDONISM AND IDEALISM: 
SITUATION 



THE MORAL 



CHAPTER XVI 

The Situation from a Metaphysical Standpoint . . . 287 

1. The Necessity for a Coordination of Theory . . . . 287 

2. The Ultimately Complementary Character of the Opposing 

Conceptions 289 

(a) Mechanism and Consciousness 290 



CONTENTS xi 

PAGE 

Metaphysical Standpoint — continued : 

(£) Happiness and Self-realisation 296 

(c~) Social Equilibrium and Social Organism . . . 299 

3. The Immediate Contradictions of Concrete Thought . .301 

4. Hedonism and Idealism as Regulative Hypotheses . . 304 



CHAPTER XVII 

The Situation from an Evolutionary Standpoint 

1. The Standpoint for a Conception of Evolution 

2. The Evolutionary Process . 

(a) The Evolution of Knowledge 
(6) The Evolution of Will 

3. Hedonism and Idealism as Evolutionary Attitudes 

4. The Permanence of the Problematic Situation 



306 
306 
307 
309 
310 
312 

315 

5. The Evolutionary Significance of the Regulative Hypothesis 321 



CHAPTER XVIII 

The Practical Moral Attitude 323 

1. A Review of the Moral Situation 323 

2. Progress and Happiness 326 

3. The Conception of a Maximum Sustained Progress . . 332 

4. Moral Health 337 

CHAPTER XIX 

Concrete Illustrations of the Moral Attitude . . . 342 

1. The Duties of Citizenship 342 

2. My Duty to Society 348 

(#) The Acceptance of Unearned Rewards . . . 349 

(b) The Administration of Wealth 352 

(c) The Payment of Services 354 

(d) The Social Problem and the Moral Attitude . . 356 

(e) The Use of Personal Capacities 358 

3. My Duty to my Neighbour 360 

4. Personal Duties 363 

(a) The Obligations of Honour 363 

(&) Self-control 371 

Index 375 



INTRODUCTION 



AN INTRODUCTORY STUDY OF ETHICS 

CHAPTER I 

THE SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 

1. DEFINITION OF ETHICS 

Ethics is commonly described as the study of moral conduct. 
By moral conduct we mean of course to include immoral con- 
duct, since ethics in dealing with the one necessarily includes 
the other. The term ' moral ' as here used covers all conduct 
which is subject to the judgment of right and wrong. The 
distinction implied is not between moral and immoral, right 
and wrong, but between moral and z/^moral, i.e. between 
conduct which has a moral aspect and that which has none. 
For example, whether I shall in a given case speak truly or 
falsely is a distinctly moral question, but whether I shall write 
this page with a pen, a pencil, or a typewriter appears to have 
no moral significance whatever. 

The question arises, then, What is it that gives conduct a 
moral significance ? Theoretically this question may lead. in 
various directions. It may require us to distinguish the moral 
from the economic, the psychological, the physiological, the 
physical, or from any other aspect of human conduct. But 
the practically important question in the definition of ethics 
is the distinction of the moral from the useful. This question 
has been, in the history of ethics, a subject of long-continued 
discussion. At first sight it seems that between the moral and 
the merely useful there is a wide and impassable gulf. It seems 
one thing to say that an act is advisable, or profitable, or useful, 

3 



4 INTRODUCTION 

or expedient, and quite another to declare it to be a positive 
duty. There appears to be a wide distinction between " It is 
best for me to do it " and " I ought to do it," and it would 
seem that, in the case of the merely useful act, I might refuse 
to perform it provided I were willing to accept the conse- 
quences, whereas the moral act is one that I am bound to 
perform whether I accept them or not. Accordingly, it has 
been widely held that the sentiment of duty — the feeling of 
' ought,' as it is sometimes described — is wholly unique and 
irreducible to a consideration of utilities ; and by some moral- 
ists it has been maintained that the feeling is ultimately un- 
analysable. 1 

The opposite view, which is the view to be presented here, 
and probably the more common view of to-day, treats the 
distinction between the moral and the useful as ultimately a 
distinction of degree only. An act is moral, as distinct from 
merely useful, to the extent that its consequences are con- 
ceived to be far-reaching and important. Any act may become 
a subject for moral judgment. An apparently most insignificant 
act, such as tying my shoe, may at times be a decisive factor 
in the attainment of moral purposes ; if the knot is not tied 
fast, it may come loose and impede my efforts at a moment 
when all my energies are engaged in a struggle of life and death. 
And though acts of this kind have rarely such tragic impor- 
tance, yet it is clear that every minute detail of my action 
contributes, through the manner of its performance, its share 
toward the furtherance or hindrance of my life-purpose, and 
hence toward success or failure in the attainment of moral 
ends. When, therefore, we distinguish certain acts as being 
useful rather than right, it means only that we abstract from 
their ultimate consequences and attend to those that are more 
immediate. And this, again, means only that we fail to consider 
their moral character, — not that they are intrinsically unmoral. 

1 See Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, Book I, ch. iii ; Martineau, Types of 
Ethical Theory, Part II, Introduction. 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 5 

When, on the other hand, we speak of certain acts as dis- 
tinctly moral, it means that we have their ultimate consequences 
clearly in mind. With regard to most of our particular acts 
these ultimate consequences are rarely considered, for a 
large part of our life is already securely organised upon moral 
grounds. From a moral standpoint it is highly important to 
obtain sufficient food and sleep, to avoid the dangers of fire 
and water and of poison, but there is little temptation to do 
otherwise. Consequently, we rarely think of asking, Why 
should I eat? or, Why should I be on my guard against fire 
and other dangers? If we do ask the question, it is, as a rule, 
readily answered by reference to some proximate end whose 
value is relatively unquestioned. For example, if a man asks 
me, Why should I eat ? or, as the question is more likely to be, 
Why should I eat this and abstain from that? it is sufficient to 
point out the effect of his action upon his health. The value 
of health is commonly accepted as unquestionable. Hence, 
the question of what to eat is commonly regarded as a question 
of mere utility. It is only when the proximate end of such 
acts is itself under discussion that the question becomes a 
moral one. For example, if a man goes to the length of 
asking why he should care for his health, it will be necessary, 
in giving him an answer, to explain the connection between 
physical health and all the more important objects of his life. 
When this connection is made out, it becomes clear that the 
choice between two articles of food, so far as this choice is 
related to health, is one involving far-reaching and important 
consequences. The choice is then taken out of the region of 
the merely useful into that of the distinctly moral. 

The difficulty which men have in connecting the moral and 
the useful is due largely to the narrow range of consequences 
commonly implied in the latter. To call an act profitable 
means usually that it will put money in one's pockets. To say 
that it is advisable, or that it is best, is merely a more delicate 
expression of the same idea. The expediency, e.g., of hold- 



6 INTRODUCTION 

ing certain views or of making certain acquaintances, commonly 
suggests meanness and insincerity. And even the term ' use- 
ful,' though more abstract and morally colourless, is very com- 
monly limited to a usefulness for purely material ends. Limiting 
these terms to such narrow ends, one is justified in making a 
sharp distinction between the useful and the moral. Certainly 
the duty of filling my own pocket, though imperative enough 
at times, is on the whole less generally imperative than that of 
telling the truth ; and I may very easily think of the one as less 
binding than the other. But when we take into consideration 
the broader ends of specifically moral action, the case is 
different. When we remember that we have not only to sup- 
ply our own needs but those of others, and not our material 
needs only but all the needs, intellectual, artistic, spiritual, as 
well as material, which arise out of our human nature taken 
as a whole, we feel that the usefulness of our acts toward 
these larger ends acquires a certain dignity and imperative- 
ness which is not evident when we think of them as useful in 
a purely selfish and material sense. It then becomes clear 
that, through a more comprehensive interpretation of the ends 
aimed at, our conception of the useful has gradually developed 
into that of the truly moral. 

I prefer, then, in defining the scope of ethics, to say simply 
that it is a study of practical life in its more general aspects. 
As a study of practical life it is to be distinguished from studies 
of fact and theory, such as physics, physiology, or psychology, 
which — immediately at least — aim only at the attainment of 
truth in itself and have no interest in its practical application. 
And as a ' more general ' study of practical life it is to be dis- 
tinguished from the technical sciences such as medicine and 
applied mechanics, which deal with special departments of 
practical activity, and with the principles whose application is 
confined to special departments, rather than with the principle 
of practical activity in general. Thus the distinction between 
ethics and the technical studies is a question of degree of gen- 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 7 

erality ; it is another aspect of the distinction between the right 
and the useful. Both ethics and the technical sciences have to 
do with right ways of doing things. A method of curing a dis- 
ease or of building a bridge cannot be technically right if it is 
morally wrong, and it cannot be morally right if it is techni- 
cally impossible or wasteful. But no one person can give 
adequate consideration both to the general principles of con- 
duct and to all its special conditions. Hence, we have a dis- 
tinction of problem and aspect, ethics emphasising the more 
general aspects of conduct, the technical sciences emphasising 
the special aspects of their respective departments. 

As a result of its more general character ethics is more inter- 
ested in the ends of conduct than in the means for attaining 
these ends, while, owing to their special character, the techni- 
cal studies are more interested in ways and means. For this 
reason ethics is often defined as a ' normative ' study — a study 
of norms or ends — in distinction from the 'practical,' or tech- 
nical, studies. But it is to be noted that ethics is only predomi- 
nantly a normative study, not exclusively so ; and the technical 
studies are only predominantly l practical.' For ends and 
means cannot be studied in complete isolation from each 
other. The end to be attained determines the means to be 
used and is determined in turn by the nature of the available 
means. It would therefore be misleading to say that the 
moralist thinks only of ends or ideals ; for the ideal which he 
recommends presupposes certain technical possibilities, the con- 
sideration of which carries him into the fields of the special sci- 
ences. Moral conduct must be, in the first place, mechanically 
and physiologically possible, since nothing can be accounted a 
duty for which our strength is insufficient. In the second place 
it must be economically possible ; for moral ideals are at the 
same time social ideals, and ideals which the economic condi- 
tions render impossible can hardly constitute a moral obliga- 
tion. And further, it must be psychologically possible; it 
must be the kind of conduct for which there could be a con- 



8 INTRODUCTION 

ceivable motive ; for we cannot urge as a duty that in which 
no one could conceivably be interested. With regard to the 
physical, physiological, and economic possibilities of conduct, 
the moralist usually accepts the results attained in the special 
sciences, though not without reserving the right of criticism 
and revision. The psychological conditions he investigates 
himself; and, indeed, it would not be too much to say that the 
whole task of ethics is to determine what conduct is psycho- 
logically possible ; at any rate it is clear that the discussion of 
ideals or ends is conducted at every step with reference to the 
actual possibilities of desire and motive. If, moreover, we 
glance for a moment at the technical sciences, it is evident 
that they on their side do not overlook the question of ends ; 
for the physician is not so much interested in the effect of 
drugs in general as in their curative effects, and the engineer is 
less interested in mechanical possibilities as such than in their 
application to human uses. We may say, then, that, as com- 
pared with other practical sciences, ethics is more distinctly 
normative and gives greater attention to the question of ends ; 
but it does not confine its attention to ends alone, nor are 
the technical studies interested exclusively in ways and means. 

2. THE PRACTICAL VALUE OF ETHICS 

As a study of practical life, ethics is the outcome of a practi- 
cal problem. This statement is sometimes contradicted. Cer- 
tain moralists, among them Mr. Leslie Stephen, 1 deny that the 
ethical problem has any practical importance. It is held that 
we find a substantial unanimity with regard to most of the con- 
crete details of moral conduct, and that the differences relate 
only to minor occasional points. The problem of ethics is not 
to tell us what is right but to give us the reason for what we 
already know to be right. 2 Our interest in the study is con- 

1 The Science of Ethics, ch. i, p. I. 

2 As a rule men agree on the question as to what is moral ; opinions are 
divided only as to why it is so. — Wundt. 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 9 

sequently theoretical rather than practical. It seems, however, 
that this practical unanimity is largely illusory. Are we really 
agreed as to what is right ? Granting that we are all agreed 
upon the duty of being fair and honest, of keeping promises, 
of helping our neighbour in distress, and the like, can we state 
what constitutes honesty, justice, benevolence, etc. ? The view 
under consideration assumes that honesty is already denned 
and can be incorporated into a simple and clear rule of con- 
duct ; but a slight reflection will convince us that it has nearly 
as many meanings as there are men who speak of it. For 
example, I wish to sell a piece of land which I fear will fall in 
value ; is it honest to offer it for sale without giving my reasons 
for wishing to be rid of it ? Or have I fulfilled the requirements 
of honesty when I have refrained from giving false information 
about it ? It would be impossible to state all the various solu- 
tions which would be offered for a problem of this kind ; they 
would differ as widely as the characters of those who offered 
them. I should say, then, that so far as men are in clear agree- 
ment with regard to the details of conduct, it is in cases where 
the issues are not obviously important, — where, in other words, 
the morality of the act is not clearly brought into question. 
Consider, however, the following : we say that a man ought to 
pay his just debts ; but suppose that the payment of a certain 
debt means that his family will inevitably perish from starvation ; 
can we say that the obligation is still clear, or that the verdict 
would be unanimous ? Or, again, it is accepted that a man ought 
to be allowed to determine the disposition of his own efforts, — 
in other words, to retain his property ; yet ought he to be allowed 
to do so if the right is exercised to the general disadvantage of 
the community? On all questions where the issues are clearly 
important and where the problem is clearly a moral one, we find 
not unanimity and clearness but divergence and confusion, and 
it is this confusion which constitutes the problem for ethics. On 
this account we may say that the ethical problem is not only 
practically important but of the highest practical importance. 



io INTRODUCTION 

Ethics is productive of practical results. This statement 
also requires emphasis, because it is sometimes held (usually 
by those who deny the existence of a practical problem) that 
after a course of study in ethics a man's conduct is just what 
it was before. Now among the practical results which ethics 
has to offer I do not include a code of rules, by a mere refer- 
ence to which a man may solve all the problems of life. Such 
a code would be desirable if it could be constructed, but it 
happens that our life is far too complex to be dealt with so 
simply. Granting, however, that results of this definite kind 
are impossible, ethics may still furnish us with some general 
guidance as to the direction which our life ought to take. And 
granting further that positive results in ethics are largely com- 
plicated by divergences of theory, still it is true that in the 
analysis and discussion of conflicting theories we obtain a 
clearer idea of the nature of the problem and of the direction 
in which we must look for a solution. The moral standpoint 
which a man adopts as his own is largely, no doubt, the expres- 
sion of his individual character and tendency ; but, whatever 
it be, it will represent a larger view of the moral problem, and 
hence a more adequate response to moral demands, after the 
systematic study of conduct than before. 

It is useless, however, to discuss the value of that which we 
can hardly help doing. This is the case in ethics. We do 
not create the moral problem ; it is thrust upon us. And we 
do not deliberately choose to discuss it, but take it up spon- 
taneously and inevitably before we are even aware that it is the 
moral problem we are discussing. We rarely discuss any sub- 
ject into which it does not enter. Most of our conversation 
deals, more or less directly, with the actions of our fellows, 
either of those in public life or of our more immediate associ- 
ates ; and in talking about them we inevitably, and often 
unconsciously, make an interpretation of their motives and 
pass judgment upon their moral character. In so doing we are 
at the same time giving an unconscious expression to our own 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS u 

theory of morality ; and any one who is familiar with ethical 
doctrines may easily trace, in the conversation of a group of 
persons, all the theoretical tendencies represented by the sev- 
eral schools of ethics. Now it is certainly better, if we are to 
discuss conduct at all, that we should, as far as possible, deal 
with it systematically and coherently. And in this respect, if 
in no other, ethics has a distinctly practical value : for it 
reduces the common and vague expression of moral opinion 
to a state of relative order and consistency. 1 

3. THE OBJECTIVE CHARACTER OF ETHICS 

The study of ethics presupposes an objective standard. I 
say ' presupposes,' because it must be admitted that the stand- 
ard by which we measure conduct is a relatively undefined 
presupposition of our thought rather than a principle which is 
clearly stated and universally recognised, like a standard of 
weights and measures. For this reason some persons refuse to 
recognise its existence. One man, says the sceptic, prefers to 
hoard his wealth, another to devote it to the welfare of society ; 
each has his own point of view and each believes himself to be 
right. Any one who should venture to decide between them 
would simply be introducing a third point of view peculiar to 
himself. Who, then, is to say that one is right and another 
wrong? Well, perhaps we may not be able to say offhand 
who is right, but it is clear that, if we discuss the subject at all, 
we presuppose some standard of right and wrong which is not 
dependent upon individual preference or opinion, and which 
is therefore objective. The very fact that men are interested 
in ethical problems, that they pass judgments of approval and 
condemnation, and attempt to convince their neighbours of the 
lightness of their own actions, shows that they have in mind an 

1 On the practical value of moral theory, see Seth, A Study of Ethical Prin- 
ciples, pp. 6 ff. ; Green, Prolegomena to Ethics, Book IV, ch. ii ; Muirhead, 
Elements of Ethics, \ n ; Dewey, " On Moral Theory and Moral Practice," 
International Journal of Ethics, Vol. I, No. 2. 



12 INTRODUCTION 

objective moral standard. If my standard of right were exclu- 
sively mine, and yours were exclusively yours, we could not 
even talk about right conduct, since the word ' right ' as used 
by one of us would correspond to no idea in the mind of the 
other. When we discuss questions of right and wrong, we 
assume that the word has a common meaning, in other words, 
an objective meaning. 

The objective standard of right is the standard which com- 
mon sense tends to adopt. It is the standard indicated by 
the tendencies observable in the progress of human thought. 
This does not mean that it is the standard more commonly 
accepted, for the truer principle and the higher form of 
morality appear rather in the standards of the more reflec- 
tive minority than in those of the relatively unthinking majority. 
Nevertheless, in saying that it is the standard which com- 
mon sense tends to adopt, I mean that it is the standard 
which all men come to recognise in proportion as they acquire 
greater breadth of culture and experience. A man may 
assert a truth against the protest of the whole community and 
generation in which he lives ; but his assertion would be 
meaningless if he could not believe that his position would in 
course of time be universally approved. 

In referring the standard of conduct to the verdict of com- 
mon sense I do not mean that it is determined by the observa- 
tion of facts as distinct from theoretical reasoning ; nor again, 
that it is determined by reasoning and not by observation. I 
wish rather to avoid any implication with regard to the exact 
manner in which the development of thought is determined. 
It is clear that both of these factors must in some sense be 
implied in it ; for we refuse to accept a theory which is unsup- 
ported by fact, however consistent it appear from the stand- 
point of theory ; and similarly we refuse to accept any statement 
of facts which appears to be fundamentally irrational. But 
whatever be the principle underlying our thought, it has clearly 
a tendency to develop in one direction rather than in another. 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 13 

For example, we may say that all educated men believe, in 
some sense, in the law of gravitation, and that every man tends 
to believe in it in proportion as his intelligence is developed. 
When I refer the Tightness of conduct to the verdict of com- 
mon sense, I assume that similarly specific tendencies exist, 
and may to an extent be distinguished and defined, in our sense 
of moral value. 

4. IS ETHICS A SCIENCE OR A BRANCH OF PHILOSOPHY? 

Is ethics a science or a branch of philosophy? This ques- 
tion has more than a theoretical value for us, because our 
answer to it has much to say in determining our method of 
study. First, however, what is the distinction between philoso- 
phy and science? 

Philosophy, as I understand it, is an attempt to comprehend 
the world as a whole ; the sciences confine themselves each 
to a special department. We need not go far back in the 
history of thought to reach the point where the two were 
indistinguishable, and where the term ' philosophy' covered 
all systematic knowledge. Thus Descartes' work covered the 
special fields of physics, mathematics, and biology, besides 
that of metaphysics, or philosophy in the narrower sense. 
Leibnitz shares with Newton the honour of having formulated 
the differential calculus. And Kant, who also distinguished 
philosophy from science, made important contributions to 
physics and astronomy. It is not many years since works on 
physics appeared under the title of ' natural philosophy ' ; and 
within our own time we have had ' mental philosophy ' for psy- 
chology, and ' moral philosophy ' for ethics. But the advance- 
ment of learning and the consequent accumulation of problems 
rendered the profession of philosopher in this comprehensive 
sense no longer a possibility. Practical necessity required a 
division of labour and a specialisation of problem. The result 
is that certain aspects of the world, or certain classes of things 
in the world, according to convenience of treatment or investi- 



14 INTRODUCTION 

gation, have become gradually abstracted from the whole and 
have been made the special objects of research for particular 
classes of students. In these special departments we have 
what is known as the sciences as distinct from philosophy or 
metaphysics. They differ in the extent of their independence 
of philosophy. None of them can be completely presented 
without reference to more general philosophical principles. 
Physics' is, perhaps, the best example of an independent sci- 
ence, yet even the physicist may be obliged to turn metaphysi- 
cian — when, for example, he begins to discuss the ultimate 
nature of matter and force. The distinction between philoso- 
phy and the sciences is, accordingly, one of degree ; it is a 
question of greater or less comprehensiveness of subject- 
matter. 

The independence of a special science is a question of the 
extent to which it is in the possession of an established working 
hypothesis. This hypothesis serves as a basis for the definition 
and determination of the facts. It assumes that certain ques- 
tions with regard to the facts are for the moment settled, and 
thus it relieves the scientist of the duty of considering, in his 
particular investigations, the more general questions upon which 
the validity of his results is ultimately dependent. It is like 
the chronometer which the mariner causes to be regulated 
while in port, and whose readings he accepts without criticism 
while at sea. Physics possesses such an hypothesis in the 
form, let us say, of the law of conservation of energy. Not 
that the law represents a final and absolute truth. It is still 
open to modification and criticism, and in fact such a process 
is constantly going on. But it represents a view of things 
which is sufficiently well established in the minds of philoso- 
phers and physicists alike, to enable the latter to make use of 
it without constantly questioning its ultimate validity. The 
physicist may therefore proceed in the determination of facts 
and truth with the confident expectation that his results will 
be generally understood and accepted. 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 15 

Now it seems to me that ethics is very far from realising the 
conditions of independence. I will not say that it has no 
established principles whatever ; for example, I believe we may 
regard it as now an established principle that the rightness 
of conduct is determined by its conduciveness to an end, — a 
principle which, fifty years ago, was the chief subject of ethical 
discussion. But the principles which may be regarded as 
established carry us but a short distance in the determination 
of ethical truth ; so that it is very difficult for the moralist to 
make a statement which does not assume one side or the other 
of a disputed question. For example, in a recent work on 
ethics, 1 I find the following : " Hedonists say that man's only 
interest is in getting pleasure. But this is an exploded error. 
A young man's idea of enjoying the office of governor, or of 
enjoying the position of a prominent attorney, is, no doubt, 
very interesting. But the thought of being governor, or of 
being a prominent attorney, in itself and aside from any 
thought of the pleasure to be derived from the position when 
attained, is at least equally interesting and incitive of action 
toward its attainment." What is here stated as a psychological 
fact presupposes the rejection, by the author, of the principles 
of one school of ethics and psychology (the hedonistic and 
associational school) and the acceptance of those of its op- 
ponents. A hedonist would not only not accept it as a fact, 
but he would not even be able to conceive of it as such. He 
would ask, " Except as being governor were suggestive of 
pleasure, how could you possibly desire it? " And the question 
would appear to him unanswerable. Thus we see how the 
statement of ethical facts is rendered uncertain by a lack of 
agreement with regard to standpoint and principle. 

But when we attempt to define our ethical standpoint, we 
find our task to be impossible without venturing within — and 
far within — the field of metaphysics. Nothing shows this 
better than the recent history of ethics, which has been marked 

1 Mezes, Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, p. 66. 



16 INTRODUCTION 

chiefly by an attempt to break away from the traditions of the 
hedonistic school. When the critic of hedonism tells me that 
pleasure is not the sole moral motive, perhaps not a motive at 
all, I am impelled to ask him what the other motives are, so 
that I may recognise them when I see them. To say that it is 
not pleasure but happiness, or not happiness but blessedness, 
conveys very little definite meaning. To tell me that it is the 
desire to develop the capacities of my nature and to realise 
myself is hardly more definite, for I do not know why the 
capacities of my nature may not turn out to be merely capaci- 
ties for pleasure. To tell me that it is the motive of reason as 
opposed to appetite leaves me still helpless, since I cannot 
regard the satisfaction of appetite as fundamentally irrational. 
Nor am I the clearer for being told that the moral motive is 
altruistic. To be sure I know that altruism commands me to 
consider the interests of others rather than my own ; but what 
are the interests of others? Are the demands of honour 
egoistic or altruistic? And where would you place those of 
sex? And why are the egoistic motives necessarily motives 
of pleasure ? In a word, much of our recent ethics has been 
involved in a perpetual circle of 'self,' ' reason,' 'happiness,' 
'pleasure,' 'egoistic,' and 'social,' as a result of which each 
term comes finally to mean nothing in particular. 1 

The source of the difficulty lies, as I believe, in the at- 
tempt to define a man's moral attitude apart from his atti- 
tude toward things in general. For the moral attitude is not 
the expression of a particular belief with regard to a particular 
subject ; on the contrary, it is a general expression in practical 
activity of one's view of the world as a whole. The moral 
attitude expresses itself, therefore, not only in the specifically 
'moral' situations, — where a man is called upon to decide 
between self-interest and social welfare or between present 

1 For example, as a result of Mr. Taylor's attempt to deal with ethics on a 
purely empirical basis, I find it difficult to attach any clear meaning to ' self- 
culture ' and 'social justice' (see The Probletn of Conduct). 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 17 

indulgence and future good, — but in every action and belief of 
the man, — in his daily habits, his clothes, his house, his books 
and recreations, his scientific theories, his political and social 
views. In short, its complete expression is to be found only 
in his general system of philosophy. If we confine our study 
of his attitude to any one of the special forms of expression, we 
shall never understand its meaning, and we shall never be able 
to distinguish in any satisfactory way the attitude of one man 
or of one school from that of another. No doubt the difference 
of attitude is present in each particular form of expression. 
Even within the specifically moral field there is certainly a dif- 
ference between, say, aiming at happiness and realising one's 
self. But what the distinction may be is clear only to one who 
is acquainted with the attitude toward the world as a whole 
which these specifically moral distinctions imply. 

Whether ethics is to be treated as a science or as a branch 
of philosophy, is therefore the practical question of clearness ; 
it is the question as to whether we can attain any adequate 
understanding of ethical principles without reference to their 
philosophical background. Believing as I do that a purely 
scientific treatment of ethics is unsatisfactory, I shall endeavour 
later to follow the ethical distinctions to their sources in dif- 
ferences of philosophical theory. Since, however, our interest 
is primarily in ethics and only secondarily in philosophy, we 
shall not go further into philosophical theory than our immediate 
purpose demands. 

5. ETHICS AND COGNATE STUDIES 

Something should now be said regarding the relation of ethics 
to other sciences. Its nearest neighbour is psychology. In fact 
it is not too much to say that ethics is a department of 
psychology. For it is simply a development of the practical 
consequences of the psychology of desire and will. The 
problem of conduct is almost wholly a question of the factors 
involved in the determination of desire ; the special applica- 



18 INTRODUCTION 

tion to conduct is a relatively obvious corollary. The relation 
of psychology to ethics is thus parallel to its relation to logic. 
Ethics works out the practical aspect of the psychology of will, 
while logic performs a similar service for the psychology of 
thought. Both studies are occupied chiefly with a discussion 
of psychological principles, and in both the practical application, 
though constituting the main feature of the end, is the smallest 
part of the task. 

Ethics has a close relation to economics. I am not sure 
that this relation would be generally admitted by economists, 
for economists, as a rule, are very emphatic in declaring that 
they are interested only in the formulation of scientific laws, 
not in their ethical and social implications. But this limitation 
does not create so great a difference between the sciences as at 
first sight it would seem ; for, as we have just noted, ethics is 
also very largely occupied in the formulation of scientific laws, 
i.e. psychological laws ; and it is well-nigh impossible to state 
a scientific law, or a scientific fact, without implying, at least, 
the desirability of some particular form of action. For ex- 
ample, if the economist shows that the trust is a necessary fea- 
ture of our industrial life, he offers, in spite of himself, an 
argument against its summary abolition. It seems to me, 
then, that the difference between actually stating our practical 
conclusions and allowing them to be conveyed by implication is 
not a very important one. And when we look further at the 
two sciences of ethics and economics, we find that both are 
dealing with the problem of value ; and for both the basis of 
value is the same, since, as economists themselves admit, all 
value is determined ultimately by human needs and desires. 
The difference between them appears, then, to be this : the 
economist tends to confine his discussion of values to market 
values, that is to say, to those values which have been more 
clearly worked out, and which thus constitute a basis of ex- 
change, while the moralist extends his discussion to the ques- 
tion of value in general. Thus the moralist discusses the value 



SCOPE AND METHOD OF ETHICS 19 

of honesty and justice, as well as that of material goods and 
services, while the economist confines his attention mainly to 
the latter. 

Ethics is also closely related to sociology. The problem of 
the two studies is practically identical ; for every question of 
conduct is a question also of social relations. But the two 
differ somewhat in method, — or at least in their predominant 
form of method. The moralist as such confines himself very 
largely to the discussion of theory, and for the facts to which 
his theory is related he either relies upon his private observa- 
tion or accepts the results of systematic researches made by 
others. The sociologist, on the other hand, gives much of his 
attention to systematic investigations of his own. The soci- 
ologist as such studies the conditions peculiar to the several 
classes of his own society ; as an anthropologist, he studies the 
life of primitive races. 



Ethical Literature. Introductory studies : Mackenzie, Manual of 
Ethics; Muirhead, Elements of Ethics ; Seth, A Study of Ethical Prin- 
ciples; Thilly, Introduction to Ethics. 

More general : Alexander, Moral Order and Progress ; Dewey, The 
Study of Ethics, A Syllabus (too compact for general reading, but impor- 
tant for the appreciation of present points of view) ; Green, Prolegomena 
to Ethics (the classical exposition of modern English idealism, metaphysical 
in treatment); Hoffding, Ethik ; Ladd, The Philosophy of Conduct 
(recent) ; Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory (valuable chiefly for its 
analysis and criticism) ; Mezes, Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatoiy 
(recent); Paulsen, A System of Ethics, tr. Thilly (a good introduction to 
the subject) ; Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics (a careful and judicious estimate 
of common-sense morality) ; Simmel, Einleitung in die Moralwissen- 
schaft ; Spencer, Principles of Ethics, more particularly Part I, Data of 
Ethics, published separately (the classical evolutionary treatise) ; Stephen, 
The Science of Ethics (evolutionary) ; Taylor, The Problem of Conduct 
(recent); Wundt, Ethics, tr. Titchener, Gulliver, and Washburn (very 
complete). 

On the history of ethics : Jodl, Geschichte der Ethik ; Sidgwick, History 
of Ethics ; Whewell, Lectures on the History of Moral Philosophy in Eng- 



20 INTRODUCTION 

land ; Albee, A History of English Utilitarianism ; Wundt, Vol. II ; 
Martineau (an analysis of important types rather than a history). 

On the history of morals (moral practice) : Lecky, History of European 
Morals ; Paulsen, Book I. 

On the scope and method of ethics, see Paulsen, Introduction; Macken- 
zie, Introduction ; Wundt, Introduction ; Spencer, Data of Ethics, ch. i; 
Seth, Introduction, chs. i and ii; Muirhead, Book I. 



CHAPTER II 

THE ETHICAL PROBLEM 

Having now made an external survey of the boundaries of 
our subject, we are ready for an introduction to the subject- 
matter itself. The present chapter will be a preliminary 
analysis of the ethical problem, together with a preliminary 
statement of the divergence of attitude and theory with regard 
to its solution. I shall first point out some of the more im- 
portant forms in which the problem appears in actual life. 
For many persons this may be unnecessary ; but, as we have 
noted, there is evidently some doubt, even in the minds of 
moralists, as to how far the problem is one of real and practical 
urgency, and there is probably a larger confusion as to just 
where it is to be located. It will therefore be worth while to 
give a few pages to, mere illustration. 

1. PROBLEMS OF PROFESSION AND OCCUPATION 

For most men the more important moral questions are those 
which arise in connection with profession and occupation. 
(a) For the professional man the most difficult question is 
that of intellectual integrity. Whether he be a clergyman or 
college professor — or, for that matter, he may be a physician, 
lawyer, painter, composer, or architect — he is always in some 
sense an investigator and teacher. Theoretically he is an 
expert in his particular department of thought and apprecia- 
tion, and his business is to seek out the truth in this depart- 
ment for the enlightenment of others. Now, though he is thus 
qualified as an expert, he has to deal with a public, or with 
private clients, who are often unfitted to judge of the value of 

21 



22 INTRODUCTION 

his results, and who yet reserve the right (and with a measure 
of justice) to pass upon them. And the possibility of con- 
tinuing his . occupation depends more or less upon their ap- 
proval. Ought he then to give them what they regard as 
acceptable, or to stand by his own presumably more enlight- 
ened view ? Let us take a concrete case. A clergyman finds 
himself, after some years of service, disposed to question the 
doctrines of his church organisation. Ought he then openly 
to avow his doubts, or simply to avoid raising the question? 
Honour demands of course that he be frank. But there are 
other considerations. In the first place, he may be an exceed- 
ingly useful man in his parish community. All his capacities 
for usefulness may point to this particular field, and any step 
involving his retirement will mean just so much loss to his 
community. In the second place, he is probably the father 
of a family, and may find it difficult, if not impossible, to earn 
his living in any other field. This may seem a minor consid- 
eration when compared with that of honour, but surely it is 
valid. Certainly there seems to be a limit to which fineness 
and completeness of satisfaction for one's sense of honour may 
be purchased at the expense of hardship for one's family. And, 
for that matter, is there not a limit to which one may justifiably 
purchase such satisfaction at the cost of physical degradation 
for self? This conflict of considerations is what constitutes 
the moral problem : how far ought one to yield to the social 
and material conditions constituting one's environment, how 
far ought they to be resisted ? The same question presents 
itself, with a difference of form, in each of the professions. 
The philosopher who is strictly impartial in his analysis of 
religious beliefs, the economist who is thoroughgoing in his 
analysis of social conditions, finds himself branded by the 
ultra-conservative as an infidel or a dangerous agitator, and 
threatened with a loss of his academic position. He finds, too, 
that he endangers the welfare of the institution which he repre- 
sents. The artist who is true to his conceptions of beauty 



THE ETHICAL PROBLEM 23 

finds the public often unprepared to appreciate his work, and 
therefore unwilling to accord him recognition. For the physi- 
cian the strictly scientific practice of medicine leads often in 
one direction, the conditions of remuneration in another ; and 
the lawyer is called upon by his clients, not to interpret the law 
in order that they may act within it, but to assist them in evad- 
ing it. In all the professions there is a certain felt divergence 
between the demands of professional honour and intellectual 
integrity, and the conditions of professional work, and a man 
who should give unyielding and absolute devotion to honour 
would not be able to maintain his position. 

(b) For the business man it becomes a question of com- 
mercial integrity. Considerations of strict honour demand of 
him that he offer his customers nothing but genuine goods, 
and, for that matter, since the business man is also an expert 
in his particular line, that he assist them in obtaining those 
goods which would best serve their purposes. Honour also 
demands that he pay his clerks and operatives a fair return 
for their services. But he finds frequently that certain adultera- 
tions and imitations are countenanced by the trade generally, 
including even the most reputable houses. He learns also 
that it pays better to consult the whims of the public, to stimu- 
late by skilful advertising the demand for a constant change 
of style, than to minister to their more intrinsic needs ; in fact, 
it is now accepted in trade circles that any article not too 
obviously worthless may be given a wide sale, and that a wholly 
artificial need for it may be created, by a sufficient amount of 
clever advertisement. He learns, further, that if he pays his 
operatives a fair wage he will be undersold by others who force 
wages down to their lowest limit. At any rate this is the 
excuse commonly offered. It appears, then, that if he yield 
strict obedience to the demands of honour, he will inevitably 
be forced into bankruptcy. In the meantime not only must 
he earn a living for himself and his family, which is a valid 
enough consideration, but he has also a certain duty to the 



24 INTRODUCTION 

public. For commerce and industry is a matter not only of 
private gain but of public service, and the work of the mer- 
chant and manufacturer is a necessary social function. A 
business man of honest intentions might therefore very reason- 
ably ask himself whether, apart from the question of a living, 
he might not better accept those conditions of trade which he 
is unable to alter, and serve the public to the best of his ability, 
than lead a life of entire uselessness. However this may be, 
it seems that we find in business the same situation that we find 
in the professions, — a certain divergence between the demands 
of honour and the conditions of maintaining one's position. 

(c) Among the problems of profession and occupation is 
the difficult problem of official duty, — that is, of the duty of 
an agent to his principal and to the public. Let us imagine 
the situation of the president of a railway. Probably most 
persons will admit that, in our own country at least, the prac- 
tice is very common of obtaining rights of way, and other privi- 
leges which railways must have if they are properly to serve 
the public (leaving dividends aside), through corrupt legislation. 
And frequently one must offer a bribe for the performance of 
ordinary official duties. But bribery is properly regarded as 
one of the most vicious of all crimes. What then ought the 
president of a railway to do ? Honour demands of course that 
he forbid all corruption on the part of his corporation, and that 
he resign his post if an honourable administration of it be impos- 
sible. And if it were a matter of private business there would 
probably be little doubt as to the proper course. But railways 
are an important part of public service. If they are to be 
operated, they must have presidents, and must earn their 
expenses, if not pay dividends ; and if they are to run under 
present conditions of widespread corruption their officials must 
meet the conditions. Can we say then that, in view of the 
conditions, a railway president would not be justified in resort- 
ing to bribery ? The situation is not different, though perhaps 
it is less acute, when the official in question is president of a 



THE ETHICAL PROBLEM 25 

university. In order that university work may be carried on it 
must have funds, which must be obtained by contribution from 
the wealthy or by appropriation from the state legislature. Very 
often there are religious and social prejudices to be satisfied, or 
sons for whom special favours are sought. Now we must admit 
that the institutions of higher learning are of immense benefit 
to the community. Can we say then that, in view of this benefit, 
the president of such an institution would be justified in mak- 
ing a false profession of personal opinion, or in restricting the 
freedom of speech in his institution, or in granting a degree to 
an unworthy student, in return for a sufficiently large contribu- 
tion? At any rate are there not many persons, alumni and 
others, who, while condemning him for making such concessions 
with a view to his private interest, would equally condemn him 
for refusing to make them in the interest of his university ? 
This situation is not peculiar to those who occupy high official 
position. It is common to all employees, — to all who serve 
the interests of others. As a moral agent I am bound to be 
scrupulously honest in my dealings with every one. But in view 
of the conditions of securing employment, can I be as scrupu- 
lous when acting for another as when acting for myself ? And 
would such an impartial attitude be really justifiable ? 

2. THE SOCIAL PROBLEM 

One of the most important moral problems of to-day, and 
perhaps of all times, is the so-called ' social problem.' The 
social problem is the outcome of the demand for personal 
liberty. This demand is embodied in the so-called ' natural 
rights ' : the right of liberty and equality, which, roughly speak- 
ing, gives to each individual an equal voice in the selection of 
governors and in the determination of public policy ; the right of 
property, which leaves to every one the disposition of his prop- 
erty ; the right of life, which holds the life of every human 
being to be sacred and inviolable. Now it is clearly immoral 
to convert any person into a slave. And there is only a differ- 



26 INTRODUCTION 

ence of degree between slavery and disenfranchisement, for 
where the franchise rights are unequal those persons with the 
larger rights are to an extent the masters of the others. It 
is also immoral to take away a man's property ; indeed, it is 
just this that is meant by the common word ' theft.' And 
except for self-preservation, or perhaps as a punishment for 
murder, it is unquestionably immoral to take human life. 
Evidently, then, the demand for natural rights has a solid basis 
in morality. But now we discover that the full recognition of 
such rights is attended with certain difficulties. Under equal 
franchise rights it becomes possible for unscrupulous political 
leaders to gain control, by bribery or sophistry, of the large 
mass of ignorant votes, and to use the power thus acquired in 
furthering their own interests, to the great disadvantage of the 
whole community. On the basis of property rights the more 
economical and industrious (not to speak of those who are 
favoured by accident or corrupt legislation) gradually accumu- 
late a mass of wealth, until at last they become a power often 
dangerous to the public welfare. And on the basis of the right 
of life those afflicted with idiocy and other hereditary disease 
are allowed to live, usually as a charge upon the community, 
and frequently, through procreation, to disseminate the disease 
among future generations. In this conflict of considerations 
we have the social problem. It would seem that no man or 
body of men is justified in assuming the direction of the con- 
duct of others, much less in depriving them of property justly 
acquired ; yet have these considerations any weight when they 
are opposed to social welfare ? 

3. PERSONAL PROBLEMS 

We come now to some more distinctly personal problems. 
(a) Probably the most difficult is that of maintaining an 
absolute sincerity in our relations with others. Nothing is 
more repugnant to an honest man than the thought of winning 
the favour of others by flattery and dissimulation, and nothing 



THE ETHICAL PROBLEM 27 

more contemptible than the practice of choosing one's friends 
for the use that can be made of them. Yet is there any man 
who is able altogether to escape the necessity of doing so? 
We live in a world in which the balance of power is often held 
by those who are narrow and prejudiced, not to say selfish and 
unscrupulous, and if we would have the opportunity for useful 
activity, perhaps if we would live at all, we must come to 
terms with them \ and often we can make no terms except by 
disregarding our sympathies and convictions, and even suppress- 
ing our views of right and wrong. In view of these conditions 
does not a certain measure of insincerity become a moral ne- 
cessity? And for that matter would a man be justified in 
turning his back upon all the opportunities for a useful life 
simply to retain the privilege of freely expressing his opinion? 
(b) The personal problem comes to a climax in the rela- 
tion of marriage. To a man with a high sense of self-respect 
and personal honour nothing will justify the assumption of the 
marriage relation except a condition of most perfect mutual 
sympathy; and commonly there is for him but one person 
with whom this perfect relation is possible. When, however, 
he reflects upon the matter he is confronted with certain ques- 
tions of practical prudence. First, he is obliged to ask himself 
how far the woman of his choice will assist him, through her prac- 
tical interest and knowledge, in meeting his professional and 
other responsibilities ; for if the wife needs the support of the hus- 
band in affairs of the household, he is hardly less in need of her 
advice and assistance in the more general questions relating to 
his profession. Next, how far is she likely to be the mother of 
sound and healthy children, and how far also is she morally 
qualified, in matters of interest and temperament, to promote 
their general well-being? Then he must consider the question 
of ways and means. Perhaps he is a poor man and committed 
to a relatively unremunerative occupation. It is a common 
saying that " when poverty enters at the door love flies out of 
the window ; " and at any rate it requires a more vital affection 



28 INTRODUCTION 

and a finer courage to make marriage a success under condi- 
tions of poverty than under those of comfort. Supposing, then, 
that these practical conditions remain unfulfilled, would it 
not be wiser, and for that matter his duty, to sacrifice a certain 
perfection of sympathy in favour of conditions more conducive 
to the future health and well-being of his family ? To a decent 
man this whole attitude of calculation is no doubt repulsive; 
yet the question is none the less real, — so real, indeed, that, 
generally speaking, it receives opposite answers on the two 
sides of the Atlantic. In our own country the moral sentiment 
is mainly on the side of personal sympathies ; but a parent of 
Continental Europe would feel himself wanting in duty to his 
child if he did not insist upon a match in which the practical 
advantages were clearly in evidence. It may be that a truly 
noble mind would renounce marriage altogether rather than 
accept it with any qualification. We may even condemn the 
man who, having lost the first object of his choice, contents 
himself with another. But it must be remembered that for 
most men, if not for every man, marriage is a condition, not 
merely of physical health, but of a sane attitude toward the 
world in general ; it thus contributes in an important manner 
to one's general usefulness. We may then at least raise the 
question as to whether a man is morally justified in renouncing 
it altogether simply because the conditions are not ideally 
perfect. 

(c) One of the most serious of personal problems is that 
of political independence. In view of the vital importance to 
democratic institutions of a pure ballot, which shall represent 
nothing but the conscience and judgment of the voter, there 
seems to be no greater crime than that of submitting one's 
vote to the dictation of others. And yet there are probably 
few persons who are not at times constrained in some sense — 
by an unwillingness to give offence or to incur criticism — to 
vote against their better judgment. But it is among the ranks 
of unskilled labourers, especially of the foreign population, that 



THE ETHICAL PROBLEM 29 

the situation becomes really acute. For the day labourer the 
ever pressing problem is that of securing work. Frequently 
his only recourse is to the local political boss, who, through his 
corrupt affiliations with corporations and contractors, holds the 
labour market under his patronage. 1 He has then to choose 
between becoming an active party to political corruption and 
inflicting starvation upon himself and family, reducing them 
perhaps to the level of tramps and outcasts. Considering his 
position, which would you regard as the side of duty, — that of 
personal honour and loyalty to his country, or that of subsist- 
ence for himself and family? 

4. GENERAL FEATURES OF THE MORAL PROBLEM 

A preliminary review of the moral difficulties suggests that 
all are reducible to two general forms of problem. In the first 
of these we have a contradiction between the ideal and the 
practical. We find in ourselves two opposing tendencies, the 
one urging us to the practice of a higher and more strenuous 
moral ideal and to the realisation in ourselves of a more perfect 
type of humanity, the other calling upon us to make ourselves 
happy and comfortable in the conditions of life as we find them. 
When we contemplate the ideal for and by itself we are apt to 
feel that beside it nothing can have a true and final value, and 
that nothing can be in the end so deeply satisfying as the sense 
of having realised, to the full measure of our capacity, the ideal 
of an honourable and noble life. But it seems that the ideal 
is to be purchased only through a sacrifice of contentment and 
happiness ; and when we place the alternatives side by side it 
becomes doubtful whether the attainment of ideal ends is worth 
what it costs. It seems possible that, under actual human con- 
ditions and for actual human nature, however it might be in a 
situation more ideal, the satisfaction of a high sense of honour, 

1 These conditions are admirably set forth in a paper by Miss Jane Addams 
on " Ethical Survivals in Municipal Corruption," International Journal of 
Ethics, Vol. VIII, No. 3. 



3 o INTRODUCTION 

justice, and generosity, and a consistent attitude of respect for 
human nature, may be purchased at too great a sacrifice of 
more practical and substantial good. And when we contem- 
plate our conditions more closely, and remember that we are 
after all physical creatures, with imperative physical needs, and 
restricted to temporal satisfactions, it becomes a question 
whether the pursuit of the ideal is not wholly illusory. It now 
seems that happiness is our fitting end, and that we are justified 
in making it the object of calm and deliberate endeavour. In 
this divergent sense of values we have the moral problem ; it 
reduces itself to a contradiction between ideal and practical 
aims, between aspirations toward an ideal manhood and the 
demand for happiness. 

In the second form we have a contradiction between the 
interests of humanity and self-interest. As a human being I am 
in sympathy with the purposes of human life generally, whether 
represented in my own person or in those of others. And 
in the practical exercise of this sympathy I seem to realise a 
higher and more generous type of human nature. But its 
exercise demands a frequent sacrifice of individual interests. 
And for this sacrifice we can find no rational ground; for, as 
an individual, my enjoyment of human existence is limited to a 
narrow range and to a short period of time, and there seems 
to be no real justification for any interest in human ends beyond 
the point where they are also my own ends. In this conflict 
between private interests and broader human sympathies we 
have again the moral problem. 

In nearly all discussion of morals the problem is expressed 
in one of these forms — as a contradiction between aspirations 
toward an ideal manhood and the desire for happiness or con- 
tentment, or between the interests of humanity and those of 
self. From a preliminary inspection it would appear that we 
have to do with two distinct questions, the one referring to the 
nature or content of good, and the other to the manner of its 
distribution. But upon further analysis, which must be post- 



THE ETHICAL PROBLEM 31 

poned to later chapters, we shall see that the two questions are 
ultimately identical. 1 In the meantime the identity may also 
be inferred from the attitudes which men commonly take with 
regard to the two questions. A priori it would seem that the 
nature of good is unrelated to the manner in which good is to 
be distributed, that we may aim at ideal ends while desiring to 
appropriate the results to ourselves and at material ends while 
actuated only by the interests of society. But we find that men 
who show the most appreciation for practical and material goods 
are also those who believe most strongly in the rationality of 
self-interest ; and that those who show the strongest apprecia- 
tion of ideal aims are relatively unmindful of their own inter- 
ests as such and most insistent upon self-sacrifice in others. 
Our later analysis will endeavour to show the ground of these 
relations ; for the present let us assume that the moral problem 
may be stated indifferently as a conflict between ideal and 
practical aims or between the interests of humanity and of self. 

5. THE FORMS OF ETHICAL THEORY 

The two sides of the question are represented by two general 
tendencies in ethical theory. The theory representing the 
claims of material needs and self-interest is called hedonism. 
Hedonism (from the Greek rjSovrj, pleasure) teaches that the 
object of moral endeavour is pleasure or happiness. It has been 
sometimes called utilitarianism, by which it is meant that right 
conduct is determined by a calculation of utilities; and we 
shall see that the attempt to formulate a method of calculation 
leads naturally to a hedonistic standpoint. 2 The claims of ideal 
and disinterested aims are represented by a form of theory 
which I shall designate as idealism. Idealism teaches that the 

1 No special argument is offered for this point; it will be sufficiently obvious 
from the analysis of social theories contained in chapters v and xii. The 
opposite view, i.e. that material or spiritual aims may be indifferently selfish or 
social, is held by Sidgwick {Methods of Ethics, Book I, ch. vii) and by Wundt, 
who agree in calling Spinoza an egoistic perfectionist. 

2 Ch. vii, 4. 



32 INTRODUCTION 

object of moral endeavour is to realise the demands of an ideal 
and perfect human nature. In our own day the theory is more 
commonly known as the theory of self-realisation, in which form 
it teaches that right conduct is the realisation of the capacities 
of our nature. It is also called perfectionism. And Paulsen 
has given it the name of energism, meaning that right conduct 
is active endeavour rather than passive enjoyment. In the his- 
tory of philosophy it has been known generally as the theory 
of rationalism, in which form it advocated a 'life according 
to reason' as opposed to a life of sensual indulgence. But 
' rationalism,' as it is commonly used, is apt to convey the impli- 
cation that moral conduct is a matter of intellectual consistency, 
without reference to the demands of desire. It thus introduces 
a qualification which is not recognised in the latest forms of 
idealistic theory, and which, I believe, does not really represent 
the position aimed at in rationalism itself. 1 

In distinguishing ethical theory as hedonistic and idealistic, 
it is not meant to imply that all forms of ethical theory may be 
separated into two sharply distinct and mutually exclusive 
classes. On the contrary, we have to think of them rather as 
constituting a graded series of variations with an extreme form 
of hedonism at one end and an extreme form of idealism at 
the other. The extreme positions are very rarely held. The 
position of most moralists is one in which a predominant ten- 
dency to one side or the other is to an extent counteracted by a 
measure of tendency in the opposite direction. But in general 
we may distinguish two types, representing two opposing ten- 
dencies. These tendencies have persisted in their opposition 
throughout the history of philosophy. The form in which 
their conflict is stated and the standpoint from which it has 
been treated have been constantly changing, but the opposi- 
tion itself has been a permanent feature in ethical thought. 
The conflict between hedonism and idealism is simply a 
modern development of the ancient conflict between epicure- 
anism and stoicism. 

1 See Ch. x, 4. 






THE ETHICAL PROBLEM 33 

This opposition is, however, far from being confined to the 
question of conduct. It resolves itself ultimately into a funda- 
mental opposition of temperament ; and the difficulty expressed 
in the ethical problem is simply that which men of opposite 
temperament find in the attempt to appreciate the attitude of 
each other toward life in general. The hedonism of a hedonist 
is shown (though often unconsciously) in all its practical activi- 
ties and in all his expressions of opinion. His hedonistic ethics 
is but a single aspect of his view of life as a whole. This view 
of life as it expresses itself with a relative lack of self-conscious- 
ness constitutes his temperament; if subjected to a detailed 
analysis and brought to a complete self-consciousness, it would 
constitute his system of philosophy. 

Our object in the following chapters will be, then, first to 
obtain a clear statement of the points of view designated 
respectively as hedonism and idealism, and of the point at 
issue between them, and at the same time to ascertain the 
value of each from the standpoint of common sense. We shall 
then endeavour to discover how far and in what sense there 
lies behind the antagonism of ethical theories a deeper basis 
of agreement, and to what degree we may combine them for 
purposes of practical guidance. In this we assume — as, indeed, 
we must assume if ethical theory is to hold any relation to 
objective truth and practical life — that, in spite of the differ- 
ences of temperament and theory, there is after all a certain 
underlying unity and sympathy due to a common human nature 
and to similar conditions of life. 

On the moral problem, see Dewey, The Study of Ethics , A Syllabus, 
ch. ii; Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles, ch. i; Ladd, The Philosophy 
of Conduct, ch. i; Muirhead, Elements of Ethics, Book I, ch. i. 

On the classification of ethical theory, see Lecky, History of European 
Morals, ch. i, pp. I, 2, 122-130 (3d ed.) ; Seth, A Study of Ethical 
Principles, pp. 77-80; Mackenzie, Manual of Ethics, Book II, ch. ii; 
Muirhead (cited above), p. 89; Murray, Introduction to Ethics, p. 143; 
Wundt, Ethics, Vol. II, ch. iv. 



PART I 

HEDONISM 



CHAPTER III 
EMPIRICAL HEDONISM: THE ETHICS OF HAPPINESS 

1. GENERAL STATEMENT 

The hedonistic view is thus stated by Mill : 1 " The creed 
which accepts as the foundation of morals Utility, or the 
Greatest Happiness Principle, holds that actions are right in 
proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they 
tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is 
intended pleasure, and the absence of pain; by unhappiness, 
pain, and the privation of pleasure. To give a clear view of the 
moral standard set up by the theory, much more requires to 
be said ; in particular what things it includes in the ideas of 
pain and pleasure ; and to what extent this is left an open 
question. But these supplementary questions do not affect 
the theory of life on which the theory of morality is grounded 
— namely, that pleasure, and freedom from pain, are the only 
things desirable as ends ; and that all desirable things (which 
are as numerous in the utilitarian as in any other scheme) are 
desirable either for the pleasure inherent in themselves, or as 
means to the promotion of pleasure and the prevention of 
pain." 

But the search for happiness is often complicated by the 
presence of alternatives, each of which promises happiness or 
freedom from pain, while at the same time the happiness ob- 
tained from one source will involve pain and unhappiness from 
the other. I wish to enjoy my cup of coffee at dinner and yet 
to sleep comfortably afterward; or to enjoy my evening 

1 Utilitarianism, ch. ii. 
37 



38 HEDONISM 

paper or novel in privacy and quiet, yet not to exclude the 
other members of the household from the common sitting- 
room. It is the presence of these conflicting alternatives which 
constitutes the moral problem. According to hedonism, the 
solution lies in the selection of that course which offers the 
greater pleasure. I ought to prefer the more extended pleas- 
ure of a good night's sleep to the momentary pleasure afforded 
by a cup of coffee, the greater happiness * of my family, or my 
neighbours, or of the whole community, to the smaller happiness 
of individual comfort. This does not mean that the future 
is in all cases to be preferred to the present, or the interests of 
others to my own interest. Doubtless this is its more common 
and practical meaning ; for our usual tendency is to neglect the 
future in favour of the present, the interests of others in favour 
of our own. Strictly speaking, however, I am to choose simply 
the greater happiness, without regard to whether it is my own or 
another's, the happiness of the present or of the future. If the 
sacrifice of present to future promised to result in less happi- 
ness, it would not be justifiable ; it would then be my duty to 
prefer the present. 

This theory of conduct is based upon the fact, as hedonism 
conceives it, that happiness and freedom from pain constitute 
ultimately our sole object of desire. I say ' ultimately ' be- 
cause it must be noted that hedonism does not deny that, in 
their immediate content, our motives and desires may have no 
reference to happiness, or that they may be even inconsistent 
with it. For practical purposes it is necessary to regard cer- 
tain values as settled. It is impossible that each act should be 
preceded by a special calculation. I make it a rule to tell 

1 ' Pleasure ' refers usually to particular satisfactions, ' happiness ' to more 
general satisfactions. I prefer in practice to disregard this distinction, though 
some moralists lay great weight upon it (see Seth's ' Eudaemonism ' and 
'Hedonism'). The emphasis laid upon the distinction between pleasure and 
happiness is often nothing but a means of evading the issue. We do not escape 
the consequences of hedonism by saying, "It is not pleasure but happiness that 
we seek." 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 39 

the truth because I assume that the value of truth-telling has 
been worked out and its desirability established; and then, 
forgetting the basis of the calculation, I come to think of 
truthfulness as having a value in itself without regard to its 
conduciveness to happiness. Moreover, in the absence of a 
special calculation, or of a correct calculation, it is possible 
that our desires may be set upon objects really inconsistent with 
happiness, and also that, in the absence of reflection generally, or 
of a complete self-consciousness with regard to our motives, we 
may not yet have discovered where our real happiness lies. 
Indeed, it is just this fact, that men do not consistently give 
themselves to the pursuit of happiness, which creates for the 
hedonist the need of a moral science. Accordingly, when he 
claims that all our desires are for happiness, he does not mean 
that this is necessarily our immediate object. He means rather 
that when, on the one hand, we carefully question our sense 
of value, we find that nothing but happiness appears to be in- 
trinsically desirable ; and that when, on the other hand, we 
examine the actions of men, we find that, though many of 
them appear on the surface to be inconsistent with the desire 
for happiness, yet all point to that desire as the ultimate under- 
lying motive. This holds even of those desires which require 
apparently a large sacrifice of happiness, such as the desires 
for honesty and justice and for the good of others ; when we 
examine them carefully we find that the particular sacrifice 
demanded is generally more than repaid by the increase of 
happiness in general. Since, then, all human desires resolve 
themselves ultimately into the desire for happiness, happiness 
must be regarded as constituting the substance of human good, 
and right conduct must then be that by which happiness is most 
effectively obtained. 

2. THE HEDONISTIC METHOD 

So much for a preliminary statement. For a clearer concep- 
tion it is necessary that we now examine more closely, first 



40 HEDONISM 

the method of hedonism, and then the resulting conception of 
pleasure and duty. 

The method of hedonism is that of quantitative comparison, 
or calculation. In other words, hedonism is a mathematical 
theory of conduct. Its solution of a moral problem is a pro- 
cess of addition and subtraction. Add together all the 
pleasures promised by a contemplated course of action, then 
the pains, and take the difference ; the nature of the difference 
will determine whether the course is right or wrong. 

Now the primary condition of calculation is a fixed standard. 
To estimate a quantity of pleasure we must choose from among 
the possible objects of desire one which shall serve as a fixed basis 
for the measurement of the others, and which shall always be 
what we mean when we speak of pleasure. It would be unnec- 
essary to emphasise so elementary a requirement were it not so 
commonly disregarded in hedonistic ethics. A very common 
mode of argument is the following : We say that some one 
is a ' man of pleasure,' or that he cares for nothing but pleas- 
ure, having for the moment a certain limitation of ' pleasure ' 
clearly in mind ; we mean usually that he is a lover of good din- 
ners, of social gaieties, or of athletic sports. Then we go on 
to compare these desires with others. The love of out-door 
sports has something in common with a general love of nature, 
and this, again, with a love of music and art ; these with a love 
of literature and scientific investigation ; these interests have, 
finally, the same general character as our interest in political and 
social questions. Noting, then, that there is a merely gradual 
transition from the lowest forms of animal enjoyment to the high- 
est satisfactions of intellect and taste, we arrive at the conclusion 
that all our desires are directed indiscriminately toward pleas- 
ure ; one man, we say, loves horses, another loves knowledge, 
but ultimately both are seeking the same object, namely, happi- 
ness. But this is not the argument of a scientific hedonist. To 
lump all of our desires together and to name them indiscrimi- 
nately * desires for pleasure ' would render the hedonistic theory 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 41 

both theoretically and practically meaningless. As a theory it 
would then be indistinguishable from any other theory, since 
any pursuit whatever would be a pursuit of pleasure ; and for 
this reason it would fail also to offer any specific practical guid- 
ance. Accordingly, when a hedonist uses the word ' pleasure ' 
he does not mean merely ' satisfaction ' in general, but a par- 
ticular form of satisfaction, or the satisfaction arising from the 
attainment of a particular kind of object. This particular form 
of satisfaction furnishes him with a fixed standard and a con- 
stant meaning for his conception of happiness. And when he 
now claims that all desires are directed toward pleasure, what 
he means is not that they are all indistinguishably hedonistic 
but that they are so many varying quantities of the particular 
form assumed as a standard. When we keep this distinction in 
mind, the theory acquires an intelligible meaning and offers a 
definite practical guidance. An indefinite injunction to seek 
' pleasure ' may mean anything you like ; but when pleasure is 
understood to indicate the sort of satisfaction obtained, let us 
say, from a good dinner, the search for pleasure becomes a defi- 
nite selection of certain activities to the exclusion of others. 

Our fixed standard must be also an objective standard. This 
is another condition which, though obvious, is nevertheless in 
need of emphasis. For it is commonly said that in matters of 
pleasure objective standards are meaningless, the recipient of 
pleasure being the sole judge of value. But this, again, is 
not the position of hedonism ; for the pleasure which hedonism 
urges me to consider is not merely that of the present mo- 
ment, but of all the moments of my life and of all the persons 
whose interests are concerned. On the basis of subjective and 
individual valuation this is clearly impossible. In spending 
according to the mood of to-day I may underestimate the need 
of to-morrow, and in planning a dinner according to my own 
tastes I may fail to satisfy those of my guests. Which estimate 
of pleasure is to be accepted ? My own or that of others affected 
by my actions ? The estimate of the present moment or that of 



42 HEDONISM 

the future ? It is evident that an adjustment of these conflict- 
ing interests requires a standard of valuation upon which all 
will agree, — in other words, an objective standard with author- 
ity superior to that of individual expressions of value. 

But for purposes of quantitative comparison our standard 
must be expressed in terms of simple {i.e. homogeneous and 
equal) units. When we speak of one object as offering more 
pleasure than another, we necessarily mean more of the same 
kind , for we cannot add or subtract except where objects are 
of the same kind. Apples added to pears gives neither more 
apples nor more pears. But ' more of the same kind ' means 
simply a greater number of equal units. When we speak of 
more heat we mean a greater number of degrees on the thermo- 
metric scale, each degree being assumed to represent the same 
amount of heat. And so it must be with 'more pleasure.' 
When I say that a given apple offers more pleasure than a 
given pear, I mean that both feelings of pleasure are composed 
of equal and homogeneous units of pleasant feeling, of which 
that excited by the taste of the apple contains the greater 
number. And I mean the same thing when I say that the 
pleasure to be derived from a devotion to art, to learning, or 
to public service is greater than that obtained from self-indul- 
gence. 

Theoretically, then, the hedonistic method is identical with 
the method of physical science. The latter is illustrated in the 
measurement of heat. Measurement, whether of heat or of 
pleasure, implies an objective numerical standard, -■— a stand- 
ard superior in authority to individual estimates, yet derived 
ultimately from individual estimates. The readings of the 
thermometer are assumed to be more accurate than the par- 
ticular declarations of the thermal sense ; yet they rest ulti- 
mately upon sense-perception, — upon the common experience 
that water feels hotter as it approaches the boiling point and 
colder as it approaches the freezing point. Now it is evi- 
dent that we have no similar instrument for the measurement 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 43 

of pleasure and pain. Such an instrument is not incon- 
ceivable, and, indeed, numerous experiments have already 
been made with a view to its construction. For example, it 
has been thought possible to establish a correspondence be- 
tween feelings of pleasure and pain and variations in blood- 
pressure, the latter being indicated by kymographic tracings 
on smoked paper. If this correspondence were conclusively 
established, we should have, in the kymograph and its acces- 
sories, what might be called a thermometer for pleasure and 
pain, and we should, at any rate, be able to obtain an objective 
statement of the pleasure-value of the more common objects. 
But the correspondence is still far from established ; and in 
view of the complexity of conditions surrounding our feelings 
of pleasure and pain, it seems unlikely that any similar cor- 
respondence will be established in the near future. In the 
meantime the calculation of pleasure and pain remains a mat- 
ter of empirical estimation. 

Such estimation still presupposes, however, as a guiding and 
controlling principle, the requirements of quantitative compari- 
son. Whether consciously or unconsciously, the hedonistic 
comparison of pleasures is always an attempt to realise the 
ideal represented by physical measurements. Pleasure, like 
heat, is assumed to be an experience common to the race. 
Like heat, it is assumed to have certain well-defined and uni- 
versally recognised marks of identification ; it is as clear that *a 
good dinner is a pleasure as that boiling water is hot. And, 
like heat, pleasure is assumed to vary in intensity and duration, 
its quantity being the numerical product of the two factors. 1 

1 For a clear statement of hedonistic method see Jevons, The Theory of 
Political Economy, chs. i, ii, iii; see also Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, Book II, 
chs. ii and iii. 

" The fundamental assumption of hedonism, clearly stated, is that all feelings 
considered merely as feelings can be arranged in a certain scale of desirability, 
so that the desirability or pleasantness of each bears a definite ratio to that of 
all the others." — SIDGWICK. 

Note the mathematical presupposition contained in the following ' axioms ' 
of Bentham, Deontology, Vol. II, pp. 19 ff. (ed. Bowring, 1834) : — 



44 HEDONISM 



3. THE RESULTING CONCEPTION OF PLEASURE 

From the foregoing it follows that by ' pleasure ' the hedonist 
means the pleasures of sense. 1 The exact nature of sense- 
pleasures will appear more fully later. For the present they 
may be understood to be the satisfactions of food and sex, those 
arising from odours and perhaps from simple sounds and colours, 
from contact with smooth and soft objects, from sleep and 

Happiness may be defined to be the presence of pleasures with the absence 
of pains, or the possession of a preponderant amount of pleasure over pain. 

These pleasures and pains may be either negative or positive, growing out 
of the absence of the one, or the presence of the other. 

The value of a pleasure, separately considered, depends on its intensity, 
duration, and extent. On those qualities its importance to society turns; or in 
other words, its power of adding to the sum of individual and of general 
happiness. 

The magnitude of a pleasure depends upon its intensity and duration. 

The extent of a pleasure depends upon the number of persons who enjoy it. 

The magnitude of a pleasure or a pain, in any one of its qualities, may 
compensate or overbalance its deficiency on any other. 

The benevolence of a man must be measured by the number of beings out 
of whose pains and pleasures he draws his own pleasures and pains of 
sympathy. 

The virtues of a man must be measured by the number of persons whose 
happiness he seeks to promote ; that is, the greatest portion and happiness to 
each, taking into amount the sacrifice which he knowingly makes of his own 
happiness. 

When the amounts of pleasures and pains are balanced, the balance of 
pleasure is the evidence of virtue, the balance of pain the evidence of vice. 

"According to hedonism," says Leslie Stephen, "the only primitive property 
which can be attributed to man is the desire for happiness ; and we must con- 
ceive of happiness as a kind of emotional currency, capable of being calcu- 
lated and distributed in ' lots,' which have a certain definite value independent 
of any special taste of the individual. Conduct, then, is moral or immoral 
according as it tends to swell or diminish the volume of this hypothetical cur- 
rency. Pains and pleasures can be handed about like pieces of money, and 
we have simply to calculate how to gain a maximum of pleasure and a mini- 
mum of pain." 

1 " Man being by nature sensible of no other pleasures than those of the senses, 
these pleasures are consequently the only object of his desires and passions, 
viz., avarice, ambition, pride, and friendship." — HELVETIUS, De V Esprit, Essay 
III, ch. ix, Engl, transl., p. 251. 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 45 

good digestion. In general they are the pleasures of health, 
organic gratification, and material prosperity. 

This conception of pleasure is, in the first place, the necessary 
consequence of the assumption of an objective standard. For 
an objective standard must be sought in a form of pleasure 
which is universal in the race and permanent in the individual. 
On any other basis a calculation of pleasure would be partial 
and incomplete, leaving out of consideration some of the indi- 
viduals and some of the periods of individual lives, whose 
interests are in question. Now it is clear that the only sort of 
pleasure which fulfils this requirement is the pleasure of sense. 
Desire for such pleasures is the only form which is common to 
the civilised and savage, to the more cultivated and the less 
cultivated. It is the only form which is common to all periods 
of life, and which persists through variations of mood and point 
of view. The desires of sense are thus the only desires that 
are permanent and universal. It is true that certain writers of 
the hedonistic school {e.g. Paley J ) in common with many of 
the more popular moralists, have declared against the search 
for sensuous satisfaction on just this ground, namely, that 
sensuous pleasure is never permanent, and on grounds of 
greater permanency have recommended a preference for the 
satisfactions of intellect and feeling. But here, as it seems, 
they overlook the insistency of the sensuous desires. One may 
suppress a craving for intellectual or aesthetic gratification, or 
even for sympathetic companionship, but the appetite for food 
cannot be suppressed. If not satisfied, it grows rapidly more 
intense, and soon occupies the whole field of consciousness, 
rendering any other form of activity or desire impossible. More- 
over, the sensuous satisfaction is an antecedent condition of 
any other form of satisfaction, since, in order to enjoy the higher 
pleasures of intellect and feeling, it is, generally speaking, 
first necessary to be physically comfortable. Consequently, 
although the pleasures of intellect and feeling may be more 

l Moral Philosophy, Book I, ch. vi. 



46 HEDONISM 

permanent, in the sense that they are not followed by painful 
reactions, yet it is clear that, as compared with the sensuous 
pleasures, the demand for them, and the pain which ensues 
when the demand is unsatisfied, is relatively temporary and 
occasional. The pleasures of sense are thus the only ones 
whose pleasant character is universally appreciated, and hence 
the only ones which have a clear and objective value. 

This conception of pleasure is, in the second place, the 
necessary consequence of the assumption of a single unit of 
pleasure. It is conceivable that the various forms of pleasure 
might be all compounds of simple units, though the units had 
never existed apart from the compounds. But if, as hedonism 
holds, 1 all forms have been compounded historically from 
simple forms, then we have to assume that at one time the 
simple forms were to be found in isolation, or at least in a 
very elementary form of composition. The simple forms, or 
the nearest approach to them, must then be those which, in 
the order of history, were the first to appear. This would 
lead again to the pleasures of sense. For in order of race 
development it is the elementary animal necessities which 
first demand attention and first become the determinants of 
pleasure and pain. They constitute also, within the indi- 
vidual lives of a more advanced civilisation, the first demands 
of childhood, the more spiritual necessities not pressing their 
claims until a later period. 

4. PLEASURE AND DUTY 

We see, then, that among the several objects which are felt 
to be pleasant by various men in various moods, the hedonist 
distinguishes that which is permanently pleasant to all men at 
all times, and makes it his standard of value, his original con- 
stituent and type of pleasure. Having thus set up his standard, 
he proceeds to apply it to all the forms of desire not imme- 

1 This will appear more clearly in the next chapter. 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 47 

diately covered by it, — to the love of honour and justice, the love 
of liberty, the love of beauty and knowledge. Since nothing 
has any intrinsic value but the pleasure of sense, it follows that 
none of these objects has any value except as it may in some 
way contribute to those pleasures, that is, except as it promises 
ultimately a greater amount of sense-pleasure than that to be 
obtained by obedience to the immediate sensuous impulse. 
Now it is the hedonist's object to show that, even on the score 
of sense-pleasure, these objects will generally justify the 
attention commonly thought to be due them. And in fact this 
is his argument for hedonistic ethics before the bar of common 
sense. Not that he intends to justify all the respect that is 
commonly offered them. For since the pursuit of honour, of 
liberty, of justice, and the like, are only means of obtaining 
sense-pleasure, the hedonist intends that we shall give them 
somewhat less attention than we are in the habit of doing and 
seek more directly their end ; and if this were not the case, 
his message would have no practical meaning. What he under- 
takes to show is rather that our respect for the higher objects is 
sufficiently in accord with the demands of sensuous pleasure to 
warrant the assumption that sensuous pleasure furnishes the 
real motive for seeking them. 

Let us, therefore, look briefly at some of the ways in which 
the connection of pleasure and duty is established. 

First, the duty of honour and truthfulness. We tend com- 
monly to think of honour and truth as having in themselves a 
value superior to that of the satisfactions of sense. This is 
sometimes expressed by saying that the pleasures of truth and 
honour are a higher and more valuable kind of pleasure, and it 
is on the basis of this higher quality that we justify the sacri- 
fices of sense-pleasure which honour frequently demands. But 
this is not the hedonistic justification. If honour required a 
real sacrifice of sensuous pleasure, then, according to hedonism, 
the pleasure supposed to be derived from it would be illusory 
and should be rejected. The hedonist justifies our regard for 



48 HEDONISM 

honour on the ground of sense-pleasure itself. In reality, he 
believes, it is one of the most important and elementary con- 
ditions of sense-pleasure. For in the absence of a general 
observance of veracity and a condition of mutual confidence, it 
would be impossible to maintain any form of activity, to secure 
any kind of result. If we could not rely upon our neighbours 
to keep their contracts, or upon the courts to enforce contracts 
and to secure us the possession of our property, it would be 
impossible either to engage in commerce or to produce for 
ourselves any of the necessities of life. Accordingly, the hedon- 
ist attaches a high value to truth and honour, — not because 
the satisfaction of honour is a pleasure higher in quality than 
that offered by the incitements of sense, but because its results, 
in terms of sensuous pleasure itself, are ultimately greater in 
quantity. 

Next, the duties of temperance and chastity. We commonly 
value these virtues for their intrinsic quality, as important ele- 
ments of self-respect and dignity of character ; and the corre- 
sponding vices of lewdness and drunkenness we conceive to be 
intrinsically contemptible. But this is not the ground upon 
which they are judged by hedonism. If the pleasures of in- 
toxication could be enjoyed without the subsequent painful re- 
action, there would be no reason, from a hedonistic standpoint, 
why intoxication should not be made one of the important 
objects of human life. And similarly, except for the various 
physical evils which result from it, there would be no reason 
for objecting to indiscriminate sexual relations. In the pleas- 
ures which these vices seek, there is, from a hedonistic stand- 
point, nothing intrinsically contemptible, and there is nothing 
intrinsically lovely in the corresponding virtues. Their character 
as vices and virtues is due wholly to their consequences. In- 
temperance in food and drink is followed by headache and 
indigestion ; persistent intemperance means an early surrender 
to chronic disease and pain ; whereas the temperate man enjoys 
to the end of his life a moderate but steady and undiminished 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 49 

supply of health and sensuous pleasure. It is this, then, that 
constitutes the virtuous character of temperance, — not that 
restraint upon sensuous impulse has any value in itself, but 
that, through such restraint, we obtain on the whole a larger 
amount of sensuous gratification. 1 

Among the ends which it is our duty to strive for is liberty. 
A large part of human effort has been spent in the struggle for 
liberty ; men have sacrificed their lives for its sake, and we ap- 
prove of their choice. The sacrifices made for liberty are 
usually justified on the ground of its intrinsic value. And 
sometimes this is expressed by saying that to be a free and 
responsible agent is a pleasure in itself. But this again is not 
the hedonistic view. For the hedonist, the pleasure of liberty 
as such is an illusion. When he justifies the demand for 
liberty — and it is to be noted that his justification is not with- 
out qualification — he conceives it as a means, like honesty, for 
the increase of material welfare. When, for example, he justi- 
fies a system of individual effort and individual ownership as 
opposed to a state socialism, it is because he believes that, 
owing to the incentive to activity contained in a reward for 
individual effort, the material prosperity of the community — 
hence, the sum total of sensuous pleasure — will be more effec- 
tively maintained under a system of liberty than under any 
other system. Otherwise a system of communism, state so- 
cialism, or even of despotism and slavery, might be preferable. 

Common sense holds that science and literature represent 
worthier ends than sensuous indulgence, and, as opposed to 



1 " But these pleasures of sex stand on the same ground as every other 
pleasure 

" Is not chastity, then, a virtue ? Most undoubtedly, and a virtue of high 
deserving. And why ? Not because it diminishes, but because it heightens 
enjoyment. 

" Is not temperance a virtue ? Ay, assuredly is it. But wherefore? Because 
by restraining enjoyment for a time, it afterwards elevates it to that very pitch 
which leaves, on the whole, the largest addition to the stock of happiness." — 
Bentham, Deontology, Vol. II, pp. 86-87. 
£ 



50 HEDONISM 

mere sensuous indulgence, makes a preference for the former a 
duty. Moreover, we recommend them as pleasures, but as 
pleasures of superior quality. The hedonist also recommends 
them, but solely on the basis of quantity. To him the pursuit 
of knowledge is, as compared with the common forms of sensu- 
ous indulgence, simply a more refined and intelligent method 
of seeking sensuous pleasure. The 'intellectual pleasures' as 
such are an illusion. If these alone were at issue, the enor- 
mous sacrifices made in behalf of science and education by 
individuals, and by society as a whole, would represent a total 
waste of effort. But we find that these sacrifices are ultimately 
more than repaid by the improvement in health and in methods 
of production which science offers us. And what is true of 
science, in the narrower sense, is true also of mental develop- 
ment in general. A hedonist is disposed to favour the more 
technical studies, but any branch of learning may conceivably 
receive his approval. Higher mathematics, metaphysics, even 
Greek, Latin, and the Semitic languages, may be recommended 
by him as important features in a general mental training. 
But the only real value of such training is its tendency to 
improve our physical welfare. 

On the same ground he justifies the attention given to art, 
— the cultivation of which we also regard as to some extent 
a duty. For the hedonist the superiority of aesthetic gratifica- 
tion lies in its greater purity and uncostliness. But ' purity ' 
does not mean, as the term might seem to imply, a gratification 
superior in quality to the simple gratifications of sense. On 
the contrary, artistic gratification is in itself sensuous. Art 
means the reproduction in some degree, through the mere 
images of objects, of the sensuous pleasures which the objects 
themselves would give. But, as compared with the realities, 
the images offer a finer, that is, a more subtle and effective, form 
of enjoyment. This is due to the elimination of the disagree- 
able features which as a rule are unavoidably attached to the 
real objects. Thus the painter, in presenting a landscape, 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 51 

carefully avoids any suggestion of the many unpleasant features 
by which our enjoyment of nature is often diminished. He 
offers us the mountains, woods, and lakes in all their delightful 
aspects, without the weariness, the dampness, the sunburn, and 
the attacks of insects. Or in presenting a human figure — 
the figure, for example, of a peasant girl — he leaves out the 
coarseness of skin and feature, the harshness of voice, the 
rudeness of manner, and the absence of personal cleanliness, 
by which our pleasure in the contemplation of the object itself 
is often spoiled. It is in this way that the pleasures of art 
have a superior purity to those of sense, — not that they are 
finer in quality, but that they are less complicated by the 
presence of pain. Now the pleasures obtained through imagi- 
nation are of course relatively weak in intensity ; but when we 
remember, in addition to their purity, the number of persons 
who may derive enjoyment from a single beautiful image as 
compared with the number who may enjoy its original, and 
the indefinite period through which such enjoyment may be 
repeated, it would seem that the pursuit of art were well worth the 
sacrifice which common sense urges us to make for it. The 
hedonistic attitude toward art is thus in accord with his atti- 
tude toward other objects : the superiority of beauty over 
simple sensuous enjoyment is ultimately an advantage of quan- 
tity alone. 1 

We see, then, that for the hedonist the difference between 
virtue and vice, between the good man and the bad man, is ulti- 
mately nothing more than a difference in the method of obtain- 
ing sensuous pleasure. There are no intrinsic differences of 
character or quality. All the desires, the impulses, the tastes, 
and the ideals of all men have ultimately but the one meaning ■ 
none of them is anything more than a demand for sensuous 
enjoyment. The different ways in which the demand is ex- 
pressed are due to the different circumstances in which men 

1 Quantity of pleasure remaining the same, push-pin is as good as poetry. — 
Bentham. 



52 HEDONISM 

have lived, and (as a result of their circumstances) to the 
different extent to which men are able to conform to them. 
The difference between the good man and the bad man is thus 
a difference, ultimately, of intellectual power. It is the same 
as the difference between man and animal. Socrates and the 
fool and the pig have after all the same tastes. All that any 
of them wants is sensuous pleasure. But Socrates goes about 
his task more intelligently. The fool or the pig yields to the 
momentary impulse without reflecting that he thereby chooses 
the less pleasure on the whole. Socrates takes a wider view, 
and does not forget to give the remote pleasure the same 
consideration as he would give to that near at hand. 1 

5. MILL'S DISTINCTION OF QUANTITY AND QUALITY 

In opposition to the foregoing interpretation of hedonism 
John Stuart Mill holds that hedonism does not estimate pleasure 
by quantity alone, but also by quality. The point is of such 
importance for an understanding of hedonistic theory that I 
shall quote at length the well-known passage in which Mill's 
position is stated. 

Mill says : 2 " There is no known Epicurean theory of life 
which does not assign to the pleasures of the intellect, of the 
feelings and imagination, and of the moral sentiments, a much 
higher value as pleasures than to those of mere sensation. It 
must be admitted, however, that the utilitarian writers in general 
have placed the superiority of mental over bodily pleasures 

1 Vice may be defined to be a miscalculation of chances, a mistake in 
estimating the value of pleasures and pains. It is false moral arithmetic. 

— Deontology, Vol. I, p. 131. 
The ablest moralist will be he who calculates best, and the most virtuous 

man will be he who most successfully applies the right calculation to conduct. 

— Deontology, Vol. II, p. 77. 

It will be interesting to compare these passages from Bentham with the 
more modern, and no doubt more discriminating, analysis of the virtues by 
Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, Book IV, ch. iii, — based, however, on a much 
less definite conception of ' pleasure.' 

2 Utilitarianism, ch. ii. 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 53 

chiefly in the greater permanence, safety, uncostliness, etc., of 
the former — that is, in their circumstantial advantages rather 
than in their intrinsic nature. And on all points utilitarians 
have fully proved their case ; but they might have taken the 
other and, as it may be called, higher ground, with entire 
consistency. It is quite compatible with the principle of 
Utility to recognise the fact that some kinds of pleasure are 
more desirable and more valuable than others. It would be 
absurd that while, in estimating all other things, quality is 
considered as well as quantity, the estimation of pleasure 
should be supposed to depend upon quantity alone. . . . 

" Now, it is an unquestionable fact that those who are equally 
acquainted with, and equally capable of appreciating and enjoy- 
ing, both [higher and lower pleasure], do give a most marked 
preference to the manner of existence which employs their 
higher faculties. Few human creatures would consent to be 
changed into any of the lower animals for the promise of the 
fullest allowance of the beast's pleasures ; no intelligent human 
being would consent to be a fool, no instructed person would 
be an ignoramus, no person of feeling and conscience would 
be selfish and base, even though they should be persuaded that 
the fool, the dunce, or the rascal is better satisfied with his lot 
than they are with theirs. ... It is better to be a human being 
dissatisfied than a pig satisfied ; better to be Socrates dissatis- 
fied than a fool satisfied." 

It will be seen that the force of Mill's argument lies in its 
appeal to common experience. Here it seems that in estimat- 
ing the values of things we use the criteria both of quantity 
and of quality, and that we find no difficulty in using the two 
in combination. It would seem, then, that if we can combine 
them successfully in other valuations, there is no reason why 
they should not be combined in the valuation of pleasure. But 
when we examine our experience more carefully, we find that, 
even in the ordinary cases, we do not really combine them. 
Either we are able to translate the requirements of one into 



54 HEDONISM 

terms of the other, in which case we use one criterion only, or 
where such substitution is impossible, we make one criterion 
absolute and the other subordinate, to be considered only after 
the first is fully satisfied. 1 In buying a pair of boots, for exam- 
ple, I may consider either their durability (quantity), or the 
quality of the leather and workmanship. Either the quality is 
related to the durability or it is not. In the latter case, where 
the better quality is not proportionately more durable, I have 
to choose between quality and quantity. Either I insist upon 
a certain quality as indispensable, and choose the most durable 
of that quality ; or I make the greater durability an absolute 
criterion, and choose the best quality compatible with it. But 
one criterion or the other must be primary and absolute while 
the alternative remains secondary and subordinate, to be con- 
sidered only after the first is satisfied, — unless, indeed, the 
quality is so related to the durability that one can be expressed 
in terms of the other. In this case I reduce both to the same 
form of expression. I conclude, for instance, that a pair of 
boots costing six dollars will outwear two pairs costing each 
three dollars, and make my choice accordingly. But in this 
case quality is no longer an independent criterion, but only 
another name for quantity ; and he who now judges by quantity 
and quality will reach the same result as he who judges by 
quantity alone. 

The same holds true for the comparison of pleasures. Either 
quality is only another name for quantity, or it is opposed to 
quantity and yields different results. The double criterion is 
therefore in the former case meaningless and in the latter self- 
contradictory. Estimating pleasure by quantity, I may choose 
to become rich ; estimating it by quality, I may choose also to 
be honest. But if honesty is nothing more than the best 
policy for one who would be rich, it is useless to add the 

1 I am assuming that we make a deliberate effort to act reasonably. Our 
actual choice in such matters represents more often an unconscious and 
illogical compromise. 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 55 

'injunction to be honest to the injunction to be rich. The 
command to be rich simply repeats the command to be honest 
and is consequently meaningless. But if honesty is not always 
the best road to riches, then the command to be honest will 
contradict the command to be rich ; in other words, quantity 
and quality will involve the performance of mutually incom- 
patible activities. The only possible means of using both will 
then be to make one absolute and the other subordinate. I 
may be as honest as I can be without sacrificing wealth to that 
end, or I may be as rich as an honest man can be. 

Mill attempts to avoid this consequence by the claim that 
the higher quality is also the greater quantity. The pleasures of 
intellect and feeling are not only intrinsically superior to those 
of sense, but they are also cheaper, safer, and more permanent. 1 
But this, it would seem, if it means anything at all, amounts 
to a prejudgment of the whole question at issue. If it is any- 
thing more than a merely verbal definition of the higher 
pleasures by the greater quantity, — if it does anything more 
than call the greater i higher,' — it must mean that those com- 
monly judged to be of higher quality are in reality merely 
greater in quantity ; that pleasures of intellect and feeling, and 
of good conscience, are not, as we commonly suppose, irre- 
ducibly different from sense-pleasure, but only more efficient 
methods of obtaining sense-pleasure. Now this is just the 
question at issue between hedonism and opposite schools. The 
most pronounced of the opponents of hedonism could safely 
allow the various desirable ends to be called ' pleasures ' if only 
he might add that they were to be chosen according to quality 
alone. The whole question at issue between the schools is 
really nothing more than the question of the possibility of 
reducing quality to quantity. Is honesty nothing more than 
the best means of material advancement ? Is the higher cul- 
ture nothing more than an improved method of obtaining 
sensuous gratification? When Mill asserts that the higher 
1 See the passage quoted on p. 53. 



56 HEDONISM 

quality is always the greater quantity, he answers both these 
questions in the affirmative, and assumes as a basis of argument 
the whole matter in dispute. 1 

Hedonistic Literature. The following are the more important hedon- 
istic writers: Hobbes, On Human Nature (1650), Leviathan (1651); 
Mandeville, Enquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue, The Fable of the Bees 
(1714); Locke, Essay on Human Understanding (1690); Gay, Con- 
cerning Virtue and Morality (1731) (Selby-Bigge's British Moralists, 
Vol. II) ; Hume, A Treatise on Human Nature (1739-40) ; Enquiry con- 
cerning Morals (1748-51); Hartley, Observations on Man (1749); Hel- 
vetius, De V Esprit (1758); Bentham, Principles of Morals and Legisla- 
tion (1780), Deontology (ed. Bowring) (1834); Paley, Moral Philosophy 
(1785); James Mill, Analysis of the Human Mind (1829) ; John Stuart 
Mill, Utilitarianism (1861); Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics (1874); Spen- 
cer, Principles of Ethics (1879-93); Hoffding, Ethik (1888). 

The classical document of hedonism is J. S. Mill's Utilitarianism, com- 
bining to a rare degree a high moral tone with perfect balance and good 
sense, but confused and inconsistent in its statement of theory. The 
typical exponent of the hedonistic attitude is Bentham, a loose, un- 
philosophical, yet entertaining writer. With him belongs Paley, a much 
more solid thinker, whose hedonism had also a theological basis. The 
sensuous and egoistic (see ch. v) basis of hedonism is revealed more 
clearly in the cynical yet na'ive attitude of Hobbes, Mandeville, and Hel- 
vetius, and in Gay's essay. The latter suggested to Hartley the possibility 
of giving the hedonistic theory a psychological basis in the theory of asso- 
ciation, which was elaborated with more clearness and detail by James 
Mill. Hobbes and Locke held a hedonistic theory of motive with a non- 
hedonistic criterion of duty. Hume's Treatise is distinctly hedonistic, the 
Enquiry much less so. The most careful and exhaustive review of hedon- 
ism is given by Sidgwick. The later hedonistic writers, such as Sidgwick 
and Hoffding, have broken away to some extent from the traditions of the 
school. Hardly hedonistic in form and structure, yet distinctly so in tone, 
is A. E. Taylor's recent work on The Problem of Conduct. Spencer is the 
exponent of evolutionary hedonism. 

1 On the quantity and quality of pleasure see Grote, Examination of the 
Utilitarian Philosophy, ch. iii ; Bradley, Ethical Studies, pp. 105 ff. ; Martineau, 
Types of Ethical Theory, Part II, Book II, Branch I, ch. i, i, § 5; Sidgwick, 
Methods of Ethics, Book I, ch. vii ; Jevons, John Stuart Mill's Philosophy 
Tested, ch. on Utilitarianism (in volume entitled Pure Logic and other Minor 
Works). 



EMPIRICAL HEDONISM 57 

For expositions of hedonistic theory see Watson, Hedonistic Theories ; 
Lecky, History of European Morals, ch. i, pp. 6-33 (3d ed.) ; Seth, A 
Study of Ethical Principles, pp. 81 ff. (historical) ; Paulsen, A System of 
Ethics, Book II, ch. ii ; Taylor (cited above), ch. vi ; Bradley, Ethical 
Studies, Essay iii; Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory, Part II, Book II, 
Branch I (an exceedingly clear statement, historical and critical). 

For a history of hedonism, showing the development of hedonistic theory, 
see Albee's recent work, A History of English Utilitarianism ; for a his- 
tory of hedonism as a social and political movement, see Leslie Stephen, 
The English Utilitarians. 



CHAPTER IV 

SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM: THE ETHICS OF SELF- 
PRESERVATION 

1. EVOLUTIONARY THEORY AND ETHICS 

Since the time of Newton nothing has so extended the range 
of exact science as the conception of evolution. Before the 
formulation of the evolutionary hypothesis there was but one 
strictly scientific conception in which the nature of anything 
could be expressed. The only question to be asked about an 
object was, What is it made of? And the only answer that 
fulfilled the demands of science was one which stated the ele- 
ments of which the object was composed and the manner of 
their composition. A category of this kind was obviously 
limited to subject-matter of the sort where it was possible to 
find elements which would remain always the same, and which 
could be dissolved and recompounded ; and consequently the 
only sciences, in the stricter sense, were those of physics and 
chemistry. There was no real science of biology. In its place 
there was natural history, which made a survey of the facts and 
attempted a convenient classification of them. But neither 
observation nor classification was directed by any clear attempt 
to formulate a theory or to conceive the particular facts as 
expressions of natural law; for there was no conception at 
hand upon which a law of nature could be built. This need 
was supplied by the conception of evolution. The evolutionary 
category asks with regard to an object, not merely what it is 
made of, but also where it came from and how it got here. In 
other words, it investigates not merely the actual composition 

58 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 59 

of an object, but the history of its compounding. The former 
question was applicable only to those objects which could be 
taken apart and reconstructed; the latter applies to every- 
thing conceived to have a continuous individual history, — to a 
plant, an animal, a mind, a theory, an institution, a nation. 
Accordingly, with the introduction of the new conception the 
possibilities of science, in the strict sense, have been indefi- 
nitely extended. The natural historian could only wonder at 
the mixture of similarity and difference in the plants and ani- 
mals ; for the student of languages the variety and similarity of 
dialects was merely a curious fact. But when once it is sug- 
gested that objects which now appear to be different may be 
related in their historical development, the differences and 
similarities immediately fall into a system of relations, and 
instead of mere observation and description we have a science. 1 
Such is the change brought about when the conception of 
evolution is introduced into the ethics of hedonism. From pre- 
evolutionary hedonism to evolutionary hedonism is from a rela- 
tively empirical generalisation to a relatively scientific system. 2 
To appreciate the nature of the change, let us recall the situa- 
tion from which the hedonistic moralist sets out. He finds, we 
may say, a variety of impulses competing for satisfaction, — im- 
pulses varying all the way from the simple appetites of food 
and sex to the disinterested love of knowledge, of beauty, of 
moral perfection ; and he has to show that these several im- 
pulses are nothing but so many varying quantities of the 
impulse toward pleasure. Now when a hedonist of Mill's type 
was asked to justify his position, he replied by offering an em- 
pirical analysis of the conditions of pleasure and pain and an 

1 See Martineau's account of the significance of evolutionary theory, Types 
of Ethical Theory, Part II, Book II, Branch I, ch. ii, § 1. 

2 See Spencer, Data of Ethics, ch. iv ; Stephen, The Science of Ethics, pp. 82 
ff.,366 ff. For a criticism of scientific hedonism, and, indeed, of 'scientific' 
ethics in general, see Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, Book II, ch. vi ; see also his 
treatment of Spencer in his last book, published posthumously, on Green, 
Spencer, and Martineau. 



60 HEDONISM 

empirical estimate of the probable results of conduct. When 
he claimed that ethical judgments were judgments of pleasure 
and pain, he meant that these judgments embodied the results 
of a long series of observations made by men in general upon 
the tendencies of different kinds of conduct; in the case of 
honesty, for example, men had from time immemorial noted 
the respective effects of honest and dishonest conduct, and 
upon the basis of their observation had set up honesty as a safe 
general rule. When he then urged that happiness be made a 
practical working principle he meant that, in cases where the 
calculation had not already been made, each should make it 
for himself. This argument rendered the theory immediately 
open to criticism. 1 It was claimed at once that the calculation 
was beyond human capacity; for, it was said, the elements 
involved in such a calculation — for that matter those involved 
in a single choice between honesty and dishonesty — are far 
too numerous and complicated to be brought together in any 
single process of thought. Moreover, since there had never 
been any general agreement with regard to the exact nature of 
pleasure and pain, there had never been any basis either for 
calculation or for trustworthy observation. 

Such were the difficulties of a purely empirical hedonism. 
The evolutionary hedonist meets these difficulties by taking 
the equation of pleasure and duty outside of the field of empir- 
ical calculation and into that of natural law. He recognises 
the vagueness of our conceptions of pleasure and pain, the 
enormous complexity of the elements involved in the calcula- 
tion, and the unreliable character of observations based upon 
the state of our feelings. Accordingly, for the feeling of pleas- 
ure or pain he substitutes the correlative physiological condition, 
and for the calculation of pleasures he substitutes the law of 
biological evolution. The identity of pleasure and duty is then 
shown to be a necessary product of race development. But he 

1 Whewell, Lectures on the History of Moral Philosophy in England (ed. 
1862) , pp. 223 ff. ; Spencer, Social Statics, Introduction ; Data of Ethics, ch. iv. 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 61 

does not stop here. The law of moral evolution is to be trans- 
lated not only into a biological law but ultimately into a law of 
physics. The evolution of conduct is ultimately nothing more 
than a particular phase of that tendency toward adjustment and 
equilibrium which governs the redistribution of matter and 
motion in the material world as a whole. 1 In other words, it is 
one of the aspects of the law of gravitation. Granting, then, 
that his substitutions are correct, it is evident that the equation 
of pleasure and duty no longer rests upon the uncertain process 
of empirical generalisation. It is now a necessary correlate of 
established natural law. 

In the remaining sections of the chapter we shall examine 
the evolutionary argument more in detail. This will require 
the separate consideration, first of the relation between pleasure 
and self-preservation, then of the exact meaning of self-preser- 
vation, and finally of the law of conformity to environment. 

2. SELF-PRESERVATION AND PLEASURE 

The evolutionary hedonist accepts the definition which makes 
1 pleasure ' equivalent to the satisfaction of sense, and carries 
the process of definition a step farther, reducing all forms of 
sense-pleasure, and hence of pleasure generally, to the one 
form represented in the enjoyment of health and the preserva- 
tion of life. This first step in the evolutionary argument rests 
upon the empirical observation 2 that in general pleasant objects 

1 Spencer, Principles of Ethics, Vol. I, p. 74 (Appleton, 1893). 

2 For an understanding of the real basis of the evolutionary argument, the 
empirical character of our information regarding the identity of pleasure and 
health should be carefully noted. It is mistakenly assumed, on the basis of an 
argument first advanced by Spencer {Psychology, § 125), that such identity is a 
necessary result of natural selection. It is said that if men enjoyed suffocation 
and starvation, and found the exercise of reproductive and nutritive functions 
highly painful, they would not continue to exist. But the argument assumes 
what hedonism sets out to prove, namely, that men always aim at the greatest 
pleasure. Apart from this assumption it is conceivable that men should find a 
delicious pleasure in starvation and yet not choose it, or that they should find 
nutritious food highly nauseating and yet eat it. It should be added that 



62 HEDONISM 

are those that tend to preserve life, while painful objects are 
those that tend to destroy life. It is commonly recognised 
that objects pleasant to the taste are generally wholesome food, 
while those that are unpleasant are generally unwholesome or 
poisonous. Similarly, pleasant odours, such as the odour of new- 
mown hay, or of the pine woods, or of the sea air, are generally 
either wholesome in themselves or indications of the presence 
of some other wholesome object ; while foul odours, such as arise 
from insufficient ventilation, or from decaying animal matter, 
are generally poisonous. Pleasant sounds have a soothing or, 
as the case may be, a bracing effect upon the nerves, while 
unpleasant sounds are conducive to headache and exhaustion. 
For sensitive persons there is a marked relation between bodily 
comfort and pleasant or unpleasant shades and tints. Again, a 
comfortable bodily temperature is a sign of health, while fever 
or chill is a sign either of the approach of disease or of the un- 
healthfulness of one's immediate surroundings. And pleasant 
activities, whether of the body as a whole or of individual or- 
gans, are those adjusted to the demands of health, while painful 
activities are those which are too weak or too intense. To this 
general rule there are some apparent exceptions, such as the 
pleasure of alcoholic intoxication and the unpleasantness of 
certain medicines. But, according to the evolutionary hedonist, 
these exceptions are not real. For if to the pleasure of intoxi- 
cation and the unpleasantness of physic we add their after- 
effects, we find that the experience on the whole is pleasant or 
unpleasant in proportion as the objects are on the whole health- 
ful or unhealthful. 1 Such is the experience upon which Mr. 
Spencer formulates the principle that pleasures are the corre- 
lates of activities that preserve life, while pains are the corre- 

Spencer's main argument for the correspondence of pleasure and health is the 
empirical one. See his Psychology, Vol. II, Part II, ch. ix. 

iWe must note, however, that, though Mr. Spencer makes pleasure and 
health generally correlative under present conditions, the correspondence will 
not be complete until the final stage of evolution, 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 63 

lates of those that are injurious to life. This is also expressed 
by saying that pleasures are the correlates of healthful activity, 
pains the correlates of disease ; or, again, to use more distinctly 
evolutionary terms, pleasures are the ' requisites for survival.' 

Having established this correspondence, the hedonist con- 
ceives of the several forms of life and activity as simply more 
or less efficient methods for the preservation of life. And upon 
this basis he proceeds to explain our notions with regard to 
their relative value. Thus he assigns to human life in general 
a value superior to that of the lower animals — not because, as 
we commonly think, human life is intrinsically superior, but 
because, being the same in kind and quality, it promises a 
greater permanence. For the same reason he conceives civ- 
ilisation to be superior to barbarism. This does not mean, of 
course, that the lower animals are shorter-lived than men, or 
that savages are shorter-lived than civilised men, but rather 
that the higher races have a greater capacity for survival and 
ultimate permanency; in the struggle for existence the ad- 
vantage lies on the side of men as compared with animals, 
on the side of the higher civilisation as compared with the 
lower. It is this which also constitutes the superiority of the 
higher moral and cultural activities within the more civilised 
life. The value of science and education lies in their practical 
contribution to the improvement of safety and health. The 
value of art lies in the relaxation afforded from the strain of 
constant attention to realities. The value of truth and honour 
consists in the fact that these virtues are elementary conditions 
of that process of intelligent cooperation which distinguishes 
men from animals; but the sole advantage of cooperation is 
that it gives to human life the greater possibility of permanency. 
The value of chastity {i.e. the observance of determinate sexual 
relations) lies partly in the fact of its affording immunity from 
disease, but chiefly in the advantages which it affords for the 
care of offspring and the consequent survival of the species. 
Thus all the objects of our common-sense valuation owe their 



64 HEDONISM 

value to their conduciveness to health and life. This is the 
final and sole meaning of morality; in their last analysis 
the moral rules are nothing but the best rules for preserving 
life and insuring the survival of the species. 

The foregoing will give us a general idea of the way in 
which the hedonistic ethics is translated into the language of 
evolution. We have still to ask how it is that the conditions 
for survival come to be embodied in the rules of morality. 
This question will occupy us in the last section of the chapter. 
In the meantime we have to look more closely at the con- 
ception of survival, or self-preservation. 

3. THE MEANING OF SELF-PRESERVATION 

In the last chapter the various aspects of hedonistic theory 
were referred to its underlying method of quantitative com- 
parison. This method is not abandoned with the introduction 
of the conception of evolution. The evolutionary theory is not 
less a mathematical theory. It means only that, instead of 
measuring the quantity of pleasure directly, we now measure 
it by the quantity of life. What, then, is our criterion for the 
quantity of life ? 

When ' preservation of life ' is set up as the end of conduct, 
we naturally assume that what is meant is lengthening of life 
or the maintenance of human life at its greatest possible length. 
Clearly this is the only meaning which the phrase ordinarily 
conveys. And it is still more directly implied in the equiva- 
lent phrase, ' self-preservation.' Length of life is also the 
common measure of bodily health. When we say that a man 
is in the best of health, we mean that his organism is in a high 
state of efficiency — not necessarily for artistic creation or 
scientific investigation, or even for the transaction of business 
— but simply for a maximum continuance of life. We mean, 
in short, that he is a good risk for a life-insurance company. 
This is what we mean, again, by ' vitality.' ' A great amount 
of vitality ' is a capacity for long endurance of the conditions 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 6$ 

of life. And when we speak of ' survival ' it would seem that 
any other measure of life but that of length were clearly 
excluded. Thus the whole vocabulary of evolutionary hedon- 
ism (not to speak of the use made of its vocabulary) points to 
length as the measure of the value of life. 

Mr. Spencer, however, is unwilling to estimate life by length 
alone. He holds that the quantity of life is to be measured 
also by its ( breadth.' An oyster, enclosed in a safe and com- 
fortable shell, may live longer than a cuttlefish, but the ' sum 
of his vital activities ' is far less. " The difference between 
the average lengths of the lives of the savage and the civilised 
is no true measure of the difference between the totalities of 
their two lives, considered as aggregates of thought, feeling, and 
action. Hence, estimating life by multiplying its length into 
its breadth, we must say that the augmentation of it which 
accompanies evolution of conduct results from increase of both 
factors. The more multiplied and varied adjustments of acts 
to ends, by which the more developed creature from hour to 
hour fulfils the more numerous requirements, severally add to 
the activities that are carried on abreast, and severally help 
to make greater the period through which such simultaneous 
activities endure." 1 

Now it is no doubt in accordance with popular usage to 
speak of ' breadth of life,' ' breadth ' of interests, ' breadth ' 
of activity in general. But the popular conception of 
' breadth ' is not in any true sense a conception of quantity. 
For ' breadth of life ' there are two possible meanings. It 
may be applied, in the first place, to the expenditure of physio- 
logical energy. In this case we should measure the quantity 
of a life by the amount of physical work accomplished during 
that life, and we should measure the work accomplished as it 
is measured by the physicist, by multiplying the amount of 
force developed into the time through which it is exercised. 
This would mean, then, that a man who led a physically active 

1 Data of Ethics, ch. ii. 



66 HEDONISM 

life would develop a greater quantity of life than one who 
was physically inactive; or, so far as we conceive mental 
life to involve the expenditure of nervous energy, the greater 
quantity of life might be developed by the individual who was 
more active mentally. In both cases, however, what we have 
in mind is the expenditure of physiological, and ultimately 
physical, energy. But if this be our conception of breadth, 
then breadth, as a criterion applied to the measurement of 
life, is not really a different criterion from that of length alone. 
The analogy between length and breadth and time and force 
is misleading, for while any length of time through which a 
movement endures may be associated with any amount of 
force, the length and breadth of life are mutually interde- 
pendent. A human life is not like a quantity of energy of 
which the less that is expended at any one point the longer 
will be the duration of expenditure. On the contrary, if any- 
thing, the man who can put forth the greater energy at any 
point will live the longer life. When we say of a man that he 
is stronger than another, we mean both that he is capable of 
doing more work in his lifetime and that he is likely to live 
longer ; and when we undertake to regulate our actions so as 
to accomplish the greatest amount of work in our lifetime as 
a whole, what we have in mind is a mode of action which will 
extend our activities over the greatest possible length of time. 
Accordingly, if by quantity of life we mean the amount of 
physical energy developed or the amount of physical work 
done, all the requirements of breadth of life are fully included 
in the requirement of length alone. 

But this is not what we commonly mean by ' breadth of life.' 
When we speak of one form of existence as being broader than 
another, we use ' breadth ' in its second possible meaning 
in which it refers not to amount but to variety and 
co7nplexity of activity. And this is evidently what Mr. Spencer 
means by 'the more multiplied and varied adjustments of 
acts to ends.' But, of course, breadth of life is not mere 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 67 

variety and complexity. We do not conceive a life to be 
broader merely because one's energies are more scattered ; 
nor, again, because being scattered, their mutual relations are 
more complicated and more difficult of statement. A broader 
life, in the popular and desirable sense, is a life so organised 
as to contain more of what is humanly interesting. But 
(assuming that we have rejected length of life as a sole crite- 
rion) we have no quantitative conception for the measure of 
what is interesting. The term ' breadth ' is a mere metaphor. 
Multiplying the length of a life into its breadth is like multiply- 
ing the height of a building by its architectural beauty. It is 
multiplying a number of years into an interesting quality, a 
quantity into something which is not a quantity. This is evi- 
dently an impossible mathematical operation. 

Mr. Spencer's conception of length and breadth may then 
be regarded as simply the evolutionary translation of Mill's 
criterion of quantity and quality. And the difficulties are in 
both cases the same. If breadth of life represents an end dis- 
tinct from length of life, it may happen that the demands of 
length and breadth will prove mutually contradictory ; in this 
case it will be possible at best to make one criterion absolute 
while the other remains subordinate, to be considered only 
after the first is fully satisfied. But if breadth is after all noth- 
ing but the quality which conduces to greater length of life, — 
if, as Mr. Spencer seems to hold, " the more multiplied and 
varied adjustments of acts to ends " do nothing but " help 
to make greater the period through which such simultaneous 
activities endure" — then, either the double criterion is meaning- 
less, breadth being already included in length, or it prejudges 
the whole question at issue. For the relation of length to 
breadth is just what constitutes the general ethical problem. 
We are confronted with an apparent incompatibility between a 
varied and interesting life and a long life, between a life devoted 
to ideal ends and the enjoyment of ease and animal content- 
ment. We have then to decide which is better, — to vegetate 



68 HEDONISM 

like an oyster, or to indulge in the more interesting activities 
of the higher animals ? To live a long life or an ideally perfect 
life? To state at the beginning of our investigation that the 
two are identical is to prejudge the whole question at issue. 

We must conclude, then, that the only criterion which a 
hedonist may consistently adopt for the measurement of the 
quantity of life is that of length. It must be remembered, how- 
ever, that the criterion of length is applied not merely to the 
life of the individual, but to that of the species. The measure- 
ment of the morality of conduct in terms of preservation of life 
is like its measurement in terms of pleasure or happiness ; in 
both cases it is a question of the maximum for the race as a 
whole. 

4. CONFORMITY TO ENVIRONMENT 

We have now to study the process by which, according to 
evolutionary hedonism, the identity of pleasure and duty is 
effected. This process is of course nothing less than the evo- 
lutionary process as such ; therefore it is here that we are to 
look for the main significance of the evolutionary-hedonistic 
theory of morals. 

The theory with regard to the process rests upon a certain 
preliminary conception of the ethical and psychological facts. 
This is expressed by Mr. Spencer as the correspondence of 
inner and outer relations. 1 It is known to us more familiarly 
as the biological correspondence between the structure of the 
organism and the conditions of the environment. The outer 
relations are those existing between properties of external ob- 
jects that are beneficial or injurious to the organism and others 
that accompany them and serve as signs of their presence. The 
inner relations are those existing in the mind between the im- 
pression which is produced by the external object, and which 
serves as a sign of health or danger, and the movement employed 
in securing or avoiding the object. In an animal of the lower 

1 Data of Ethics, ch. vii; see also his Psychology, Vol. I, Part III. 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 69 

order the relation existing in the outer world between, say, an 
odoriferous substance and its nutritive properties is paralleled in 
the organism by a relation between a sensation of smell and an 
impulse to secure the object. As the animal ascends in the scale 
the situation becomes more complex, and the correspondence 
between outer and inner more delicate. We have, then, on the 
inner side, instead of a simple odour followed directly by an 
attempt to secure the object, an exceedingly complex presenta- 
tion of sounds, odours, colours, and the like (complicated with 
associations of past experience of pleasure and pain), which is 
followed by a complex set of movements determined in all its 
details by the complexity of the presentation. This inner rela- 
tion corresponds to the outer relation between the complexity 
of properties in the object and the various beneficial and injuri- 
ous effects to which they point. Thus it happens that a human 
being, instead of immediately devouring any object that offers 
an attractive odour and suggests an attractive taste, confines him- 
self to those whose consumption is followed by beneficial results 
on the whole. The process of evolution is conceived, there- 
fore, as a progress from a partial to a complete adjustment to 
environment, from a choice of the immediately beneficial and 
an avoidance of the immediately injurious to a choice of the 
greatest benefit on the whole, from simple to highly complex 
forms of desire and activity. The highest stage of the process 
is shown in the development of our moral ideals ; these rep- 
resent the most complete and complex adjustment between 
man and environment, and the most comprehensive and accu- 
rate summation of the conditions of preserving life. 

So much for the relation of correspondence. It does not 
yet follow, of course, that the correspondence between our atti- 
tude toward objects and their beneficial or injurious properties 
is a correspondence adjusted to the conditions of pleasure and 
pain ; for it is conceivable that we should choose the beneficial 
and reject the injurious, though the latter were pleasant, the 
former unpleasant. The pleasure-pain statement of the corre- 



70 HEDONISM 

spondence is secured through the relation already noted between 
pleasure and health. If we accept the view that pleasures are 
the correlates of activities that preserve life and pains the corre- 
lates of those that are injurious to life, the final result of the 
adjustment between man and environment is that human 
impulses as a whole represent an approximately correct valua- 
tion of the conditions of pleasure and pain. And since the 
most highly developed of these impulses are the moral impulses, 
as expressed in our judgments upon conduct, it follows that, of 
all our valuations of the conditions of pleasure and pain, these 
are the most comprehensive and accurate. 

This will serve as a preliminary statement of the facts. We 
have now to ask how this correspondence is to be explained, — in 
other words, how it has been brought about. Mr. Spencer offers 
two forms of explanation, the particular features of which should 
at least be mentioned, though we shall not be able to enter 
into any satisfactory discussion of them. The correspondence 
is attributed on the one hand to the direct action of environ- 
ment (direct equilibration), on the other hand to the effects of 
natural selection. The first of these methods of explanation 
assumes, as the material out of which the organism is con- 
structed, a relatively passive and plastic substance, capable of 
acting only in response to impressions received from external 
objects. As a result of contact with environment this relatively 
formless material is gradually moulded into shape, given a cer- 
tain positive structure and certain positive tendencies. These 
tendencies are transmitted by each generation to the next and 
at the same time corrected by further contact with environ- 
ment, so that, finally, the organism comes to be closely adjusted, 
in all its variety and complexity of structure and tendency, to ' 
the variety and complexity of environmental conditions. The 
second form of explanation (the theory of natural selection) 
takes it for granted that the organism will have to start with 
certain positive tendencies and a certain positive structure of 
its own. In other words, it assumes, as a basis for further 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 71 

development, the presence of certain impulses, which may be 
beneficial or injurious. Contact with environment means, then, 
in this second case, that the tendencies which are ill adapted 
to the conditions of the environment, and which are therefore 
injurious to the organism, are gradually eliminated, leaving only 
those which are well adapted, hence beneficial and pleasant. 
The elimination comes about through the destruction of those 
individuals in whom the unfavourable characteristics predomi- 
nate ; in the struggle for existence they are less fitted to hold 
their own against those who are better equipped, and they are 
thus less likely to transmit their unfavourable tendencies to the 
following generation. The process of elimination begins, of 
course, with the characteristics that are most injurious ; but it 
passes from these to the less injurious, until finally the only 
elements of the original impulses that survive are those which 
conform most nearly to the environment, and which therefore 
most contribute to self-preservation and happiness. The dif- 
ference between the two forms of explanation amounts, then, to 
this : in the first, the original organic material is assumed to be 
absolutely plastic, like wax or molten iron, and the structure 
which is subsequently developed is a mere impress of the 
environmental moulds through which it passes ; in the second 
form, all the peculiarities of structure and all the forms of 
activity which are at any time developed are assumed to have 
been originally inherent in the organic material itself, the 
environment effecting nothing more than the elimination of 
forms that are injurious. Mr. Spencer assigns the operation of 
natural selection chiefly to the lower stages of evolution, the 
direct action of environment chiefly to the higher stages. 1 

It would be impossible to offer any satisfactory discussion of 
Mr. Spencer's argument without unduly departing from our 
present subject. It may be suggested, however, that the pres- 
ence in his system of two unrelated developmental processes 
is itself a sign of incoherence. And in a later chapter 2 it will 

1 Principles of Biology, I, p. 468 (Appleton, 1892). 2 Ch. vi. 



72 HEDONISM 

be shown that the natural- selection argument involves assump- 
tions which are generally inharmonious with the hedonistic point 
of view, — at least so far as it presupposes, as a basis for selec- 
tion, certain inherent tendencies ; for the essential doctrine of 
hedonism is that we have no original tendencies to activity, no 
original preferences of our own, but desire only to adjust our- 
selves comfortably to existing conditions. For the present, 
however, it is important to observe that, whatever inconsisten- 
cies may be inherent in the assumption of two forms of evolu- 
tionary process, both processes, as conceived by Mr. Spencer, 
are the expression of a single underlying motive. And this 
motive is the point of main significance for the hedonistic 
theory of evolution. 

Assuming a certain correspondence between the organism 
and the environment, there are conceivably two ways by which 
the correspondence may have been brought about ; either the 
organism has modified the environment to suit its own pur- 
poses, or the environment has compelled the organism to con- 
form to its conditions. Now the latter is the view of hedonism. 
It is the view implied by Mr. Spencer in both forms of explana- 
tion. In attributing the correspondence to the direct action of 
environment, he assumes that the organism has no preferences 
of its own; in the natural-selection argument he assumes that, 
whatever preferences it may have had, they have at any rate 
been disregarded. In both cases the correspondence is due to 
the action of external forces. On the basis of natural selection 
it has been brought about through elimination ; the organism 
has been made to fit its environment in the same manner as a 
blank key is made to fit a particular lock, by cutting out the 
parts that do not fit. On the basis of direct action it has been 
brought about through a positive creation of tendency caused 
by the environment and effected in the organism, — just as a 
magnet may be said to create a tendency when it converts 
another object into a magnet like itself. This is, then, the real 
significance, from the hedonistic standpoint, of the adjustment 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 73 

between inner and outer relations and between organism and 
environment ; in the process of adjustment it is the organism 
which is adjusted, while the environment remains fixed ; it is 
the inner relations — our tastes and preferences — which are 
made to conform to the external conditions of realisation, not 
these conditions to our tastes and preferences. In short, in 
the process of evolution it is the environment which exercises 
the whole directing power; the environment determines not 
only what we shall obtain but what we shall desire, not only 
the conditions of moral effort but the moral ideals themselves. 
With this we have answered the question as to what deter- 
mines the course of evolution. But to appreciate the full 
significance of the hedonistic theory, we have still to ask how 
this process of determination takes place. In other words, 
what is the precise nature of the process by which the organ- 
ism is made to conform to the environment? That our charac- 
ter and ideals are absolutely determined by external forces is 
a doctrine which our naive common sense does not easily ac- 
cept. It is easy enough to see that wax or molten iron must 
take the form of the mould in which it is compressed, or, 
again, that a key will not open a lock unless it be cut to fit. 
But as conscious beings, we appear to have a certain capacity 
for self-adjustment ; when it becomes a question of passing 
through a maze of environmental conditions, we do not go 
blindly ahead until we stick, like the wrong key in a lock, but 
we cut ourselves to fit ; and though we are, no doubt, like the 
wax, moulded by our environment, still it appears that we may 
to an extent choose the moulds into which we shall enter. Now 
the hedonistic moralists in general would no doubt agree with 
this common-sense way of stating our subjective experience. 
They would admit that, from the standpoint of the agent (the 
person whose character and ideals are being formed), it does 
not commonly seem to be a matter merely of external influence ; 
it seems rather that, to an extent at least, we are able to con- 
trol our character and destinies. But they would claim that 



74 HEDONISM 

this is not the standpoint from which a true view of the 
situation is to be obtained. For a true view we must cease 
questioning our inner consciousness, and make an objective 
study of the physiological and physical conditions by which our 
consciousness is formed. 

It is in this choice of standpoint that we arrive at the ulti- 
mate significance of the hedonistic theory of evolution. It is 
this objective method and point of view upon which it bases 
its claim to be a scientific theory. In our inner consciousness 
we seem to be self-active beings, not wholly at the mercy of 
our environment. But the consciousness of self-activity is an 
illusion. It means merely that, not being able to analyse all 
the circumstances that determine our actions and our views, 
we arrive at the false conclusion that we have determined them 
ourselves. And in view of the enormous complexity of the factors 
constituting our consciousness, it is perhaps inevitable that we 
should arrive at such false conclusions as long as we attempt to 
state the operations of consciousness through a study of con- 
sciousness itself. Accordingly, the evolutionary hedonist shifts 
his attention from the contents of consciousness to the physi- 
cal and physiological conditions. Every conscious process is 
parallel to (not to say ' subordinate to ') a physiological pro- 
cess. Every activity of thought is the correlate of an activity 
in the brain. But the brain, however related to consciousness, 
is still a physical body, subject to the same laws as other physi- 
cal bodies. It follows, then, that every external circumstance, 
however unnoticed, will have its due effect in determining the 
brain structure, — just as every drop of a waterfall has its effect 
in the corrosion and in the shaping of the rock beneath. Every 
object that comes within the range of my sense-organs must, 
whether recognised in consciousness or not, set up an activity 
in the end-organ, which is transmitted by the nerves to the 
brain, and there effects a modification of the brain structure. 
The modification thus effected will then have its part in deter- 
mining the course of my future conduct. Now this process 



SCIENTIFIC HEDONISM 75 

has been at work from the beginning of evolution. In each 
generation the structure of the brain has been modified by the 
environment of that generation, and the structure thus modified 
has been transmitted to posterity. Each modification means 
an increased conformity to environment, — a closer corre- 
spondence in the complexity and flexibility of brain structure 
to the complexity and variety of environmental conditions. It 
is therefore inevitable, from a scientific standpoint, that the 
brain, in its structures and activities, and, in terms of the cor- 
relative consciousness, the character, habits, and ideals of the 
agent, should now represent an approximately complete con- 
formity to environmental conditions. 1 

We may see now on what ground the evolutionary hedonist 
may claim to have given a greater certainty to the equation of 
pleasure and duty. The accuracy of the equation is now due 
to the inevitable accuracy of the mechanical principle. A 
trustworthy accountant may easily make a mistake in adding 
a column of figures, but the speed register of an engine has its 
accuracy guaranteed by its mechanical relations to the shaft. 
So, again, the wisest man may err in his estimates of pleasure 
and pain and of the means by which they are obtained ; the 
factors are so numerous, and complicated that he may easily 
overlook some of the more important of them. But the brain, 
as Mr. Spencer puts it, 2 is an ' organised register ' of experi- 
ence, and stands in mechanical relations to the external stimuli. 
It is thus, like the speed register, inevitably accurate, having 
duly recorded and weighed every occurrence within its own 
environment and that of its ancestors. It is true that the 
brain habits sometimes lead us astray, causing us to start out 
on lines that are at variance with those required by present 
conditions. But this is because the evolution of the brain is 
not yet complete ; we have not yet encountered all the possible 

1 The more direct effects of mechanical forces upon the brain, such as the 
effects of drugs and of gunshot wounds, are not considered here. 

2 Psychology, Vol. I, p. 470 (Appleton, 1892). 



76 HEDONISM 

variations of experience. Taking, however, our more pro- 
nounced and definite tendencies, as represented in our more 
positive assertions of importance and value, and most dis- 
tinctly in our judgments of right and wrong, it becomes 
mechanically inevitable, when we consider the conditions under 
which the structure of the brain has been evolved, that these 
tendencies should represent on the whole an accurate sum- 
mation of the beneficial and injurious properties of external 
objects, and — translating ' beneficial' and ' injurious' into their 
pleasure-pain equivalents — of the conditions of pleasure and 
pain. 

For an evolutionary treatment of ethics, see Spencer, Principles of 
Ethics (more especially Part I, Data of Ethics, which is printed separately, 
and which gives the best statement of evolutionary hedonism) ; Stephen, 
The Science of Ethics ; Alexander, Moral Order and Progress ; Dewey, 
The Study of Ethics, A Syllabus ; Simmel, Einleitung in die Moral- 
wissenschaft. 

For a history of evolutionary theories, see C. M. Williams, A Review 
of the Systems of Ethics Founded on the Theory of Evolution. 



CHAPTER V 
HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 

1. SOCIAL THEORY AND ETHICS 

We have now to study the application of hedonistic theory 
to social relations. It will be clear at the outset that such 
relations have a direct bearing upon the question of conduct. 
For, whether we wish it or not, we find ourselves living in the 
company of our fellow-men, with the result that our welfare is 
to some extent determined by their actions, while theirs, in 
turn, is determined by our own actions. There is nothing that a 
man can do which will not in some way affect his neighbours ; his 
mere presence in the world, involving, as it does, the occupa- 
tion of a certain place as a dwelling and the consumption of a 
certain amount of food, has its effect in determining for others 
the place where they may dwell and the food that they may 
eat. Now it is recognized by all forms of ethical theory, as 
well as by common sense, that duty demands some attention to 
the welfare of society. The question arises then as to the 
motive and the extent of this aspect of duty. What motive 
has the individual for considering the welfare of society? 
And how far should he consider the welfare of society as dis- 
tinct from his own welfare as an individual ? This question, it 
will be seen, leads directly to the broader question of social 
relations in general : what are the motives or forces that deter- 
mine the relations of men in society and make them work 
together for the common good? The reply of hedonism to 
these questions will be the subject of the present chapter. 

77 



78 HEDONISM 



2. THE HEDONISTIC MOTIVE FOR SOCIAL EFFORT 

According to the later hedonists my immediate motive for con- 
sidering the welfare of society is a feeling of sympathy with the 
aims of my fellow-men, — a feeling which is so much a part of 
my nature that I tend spontaneously to think of others as well 
as of myself. This feeling is, however, the result of social de- 
velopment and is not the original and real motive for social 
effort. The original (and still the real) motive is that of self- 
interest. 1 As an individual living in society I find that I cannot 
give unlimited extension to my own desires without coming into 
conflict with the interests of others ; and since my strength as 
an individual is insufficient to overcome the united force of 
others, I find it necessary and advantageous to conciliate their 
favour by some regard for their interests. If I fail to do so, 
I may be crushed out of existence. And though I may be 
so strong as to have little reason to fear my neighbours, it 
is still desirable to be on good terms with them ; for I 
may find myself at any time in need of their active assist- 
ance. No man is so well able to take care of himself that 
the need for assistance may not arise ; and when it does arise, 
he cannot expect others to serve him unless he has shown a 
disposition to serve them. 2 This is the negative side of the 
social relation, to which there is also a positive side. To the 
advantage to be derived from the assistance of our fellows in 

1 See Mill, Utilitarianism, ch. iii, p. 46 (Longmans, 1891). It is difficult to 
get a perfectly clear statement of this point from the later hedonistic writers. In 
the passage referred to, Mill clearly stands for the reality of disinterested motives, 
yet, later in the same paragraph, he evidently thinks it safer to regard them as 
derivatives of self-interest, i.e. as due to a sense of the advantages to individuals 
of social organisation. 

2 " Dream not that men will move their little finger to serve you, unless their 
advantage in so doing be obvious to them. Men never did so, and never will, 
while human nature is made of its present materials. But they will desire to 
serve you, when by doing so they can serve themselves ; and the occasions on 
which they can serve themselves by serving you are multitudinous." — BENTHAM, 
Deontology, Vol. II, p. 133. 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 79 

time of trouble we may add the mutual advantage of coopera- 
tion in general. It is found that two men working harmoni- 
ously together can produce more than both can produce 
working separately, so that, if the product be equally divided, 
each will gain more for himself through cooperation with others 
than by working alone. As a result of countless experiences 
of this sort, extending throughout the history of the race, the 
necessity and desirability of cooperation and mutual self-sacri- 
fice have come to be regarded as settled. Accordingly, there 
has been brought about in men in general a feeling of unity and 
sympathy with regard to their plans and purposes, so that now, 
instead of calculating our personal advantage in each case that 
calls for social effort, we tend to a large extent to give our 
services spontaneously. All the advantages of cooperation 
have by no means been yet worked out ; therefore, we may 
expect, in the further development of social relations, to find 
an increased emphasis placed upon its desirability. It is 
to be remembered, however, that the motive which ulti- 
mately prompts a man to cooperate with others is that of 
private advantage ; therefore he will not make the sacri- 
fice necessary for cooperation further than his advantage will 
justify, or, in other words, further than his sacrifice will be 
made good to him with interest on the investment. And since 
it is not true that such investments are in every case remunera- 
tive, a hedonist will advise a man to exercise a certain amount 
of caution in his sacrifices for the good of society. For there 
is a point beyond which self-sacrifice no longer pays. 

My duty to my neighbour is, accordingly, nothing but * my 
own advantage rightly understood.' Hedonism assumes that 
the fundamental tendency of the individual is to consult his 
own advantage. But this may often be furthered by consult- 
ing the advantage of others. Therefore an intelligent person 
will give the interests of others their due consideration. It is 
thus the larger intelligence, as manifested in this way, which 
constitutes the real difference between the unselfish and the 



80 HEDONISM 

selfish man. Both alike are determined in their actions by 
the motive of self-interest. But the unselfish man recognises 
the power of others to do him good or ill ; he therefore makes 
due sacrifices to conciliate their favour, and in the end finds 
himself the gainer. 1 

It is this principle which, according to hedonism, underlies 
our common-sense conceptions of social morality. We must 
remember that, while the hedonist does not accept the common 
rules of morality without some reservation, he is nevertheless 
at pains to show that they support his theory of conduct. The 
hedonistic attitude is neatly illustrated in the expression, 
" Honesty is the best policy." Theoretically there are many 
cases where a calculation of self-interest would show that strict 
honesty is not the best policy. Practically, however, the 
hedonist believes it better to adopt the rule of honesty as an 
approximately invariable rule, not attempting to calculate the 
advantages of honesty or dishonesty except in extreme cases. 
For the proposition that honesty is the best policy is the out- 
come of long experience and of a calculation many times re- 
peated and confirmed, — the calculation of a whole race of 
beings each working for his individual advantage. It is ab- 
stractly possible that a case where I seem to find self-interest 
on the side of dishonesty may constitute a contingency not 
yet considered in the race calculation. But the balance of 
probability is against it; and not only the balance of prob- 

1 " For though a man's happiness is naturally and necessarily his primary and 
ultimate object, yet that happiness is so dependent on the conduct of others 
toward him, as to make the regulation and direction of the conduct of others 
toward him an object of his prudential care." — Deontology \ Vol. II, p. 35. 

See also Spencer, Data of Ethics, chs. xi-xiv, inclusive. Note that, 
while Spencer endeavours to place egoism and altruism on a footing of equal 
authority and originality, there is nevertheless a tendency to make egoism the 
prior motive, and, indeed, the ultimate basis of altruism. 

" Here, then, is a proposition which, I think, may be regarded as certain, 
that 'tis only from the selfishness and confined generosity of ?nan, along with the 
scanty provision nature has made for his wants, that justice derives its origin." 
— HUME, Human Nature, Book III, Part II, § ii. 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 81 

ability, but the experience of most of those who have sought to 
establish their own interest in defiance . of the general rule. 
The result of nearly all such experience is to confirm the state- 
ment that honesty is the best policy. 

3. THE CONCEPTION OF SELF-INTEREST 

So much for a general statement. It is now our duty to 
inquire more carefully into the meaning of self-interest, and the 
consequent meaning of the proposition that self-interest is the 
basis of my duty to my neighbour. Now if self-interest is 
to mean anything, it must refer to interests which are exclu- 
sively my own, and which as such are distinct from, and possibly 
opposed to, the interests of my neighbours ; otherwise, the 
term does not distinguish one object of choice from any other. 
We have here the same situation to deal with, and the same 
error to avoid, as was noted in our definition of ' happiness.' * 
In both cases our popular thought tends to give the term such 
indefinite extension as to deprive it of all its meaning. Thus, 
we may hear, the miser loves his gold, the lover his mistress, 
the mother her child, and the philanthropist his fellow-men ; 
and since all these desires are the expression of the interests of 
the agent they must ultimately be equally and indistinguishably 
self-seeking ; hence, it is argued, a man never acts and never 
can act except in obedience to self-interest. But the result 
of this argument is to deprive l self-interest ' of all its meaning ; 
for if all desires are equally and indistinguishably desires for 
my own interest, it is clear that in working for my own interest 
I do not work for one object rather than another. Accordingly, 
this is not the conception of self-interest which belongs to a 
scientific hedonism. Among the many objects that I may 
desire, or the many desires that I may have, the hedonist first 
distinguishes certain desires as the expression of self-interest, 
all the others as the expression of interest in others. And 
when he afterward asserts that all our desires are ultimately 



82 HEDONISM 

the expression of self-interest, he does not by any means abolish 
the original distinction ; he means merely that, with the distinc- 
tion in mind, we may interpret the other desires as modifications 
or compounds of the desire originally defined as self-interest. 

This limitation is presupposed in the hedonistic method of 
quantitative comparison ; for, without a fixed standard or unit 
which shall remain constantly the same, a calculation of self- 
interest would be out of the question. When I lend a man 
money upon sufficient security, to be repaid with interest, the 
nature of the transaction, and the advisability of it, is perfectly 
clear. For since the value given and the value to be received 
are both expressed in dollars and cents, the two may be easily 
compared, and the nature of the balance, whether it be profit 
or loss, may be accurately determined. I may thus easily 
find out whether it will pay to lend the money. But to lend 
money with no expectation of a return in kind, and to look 
for my reward in the receiver's gratitude, or in the good opinion 
of my neighbours, or in the consciousness of having helped a 
fellow-being in distress, is a transaction whose advisability is, 
prima facie at least, uncertain. To balance gratitude against 
a certain amount of money is like balancing apples against 
pears. Three apples is neither more nor less than two pears, 
and a given expression of gratitude is neither more nor less than 
a given amount of money. In the terms in which they stand 
they are incommensurable. A quantitative comparison of the 
two requires, then, that they be reduced to common terms. 

If they are to be compared in terms of self-interest, I 
must begin by distinguishing self-interest from other kinds of 
interest. Supposing that we identify the sacrifice of self-interest 
with the financial sacrifice, it is then conceivable that gratitude 
and the like, though not immediately capable of expression 
in terms of money, may yet yield us ultimately a return in 
money value, that is, a return in money or the material com- 
modities and conditions which it costs money to secure. It 
is conceivable, for example, that the general feeling of self- 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 83 

satisfaction which I may derive from my neighbour's expres- 
sions of gratitude, or even from the consciousness of having 
exercised my power in his favour, may have a better effect upon 
my health than the same amount of money spent in travel and 
recreation ; or that the reputation for benevolence which I thus 
acquire may, by rendering my neighbours more ready to deal 
with me and to give me the opportunity of joining them in 
profitable enterprises, ultimately do more toward increasing 
my fortune than if the money expended had been put to in- 
terest. Looking at the matter in this way, the amount of self- 
interest at stake becomes a calculable quantity, and the return 
of self-interest acquires a definite meaning; it now means a 
return of more of the same kind. 

Now the only objects which represent self-interest as distin- 
guished from the interests of others are those which give sensu- 
ous pleasure, or more particularly, those which contribute to 
health, wealth, material welfare, and animal contentment. In- 
dividual and opposing interests are due to the fact that the 
individuals as such are represented by animal bodies, 1 each 
occupying a certain portion of space and requiring the appro- 
priation of a certain quantity of material goods, the existing 
quantity of which is never sufficient to satisfy all or perhaps 
any of the individuals. Thus it is clear that Peter and Paul 
cannot eat the same beefsteak. Each may eat a different 
rjortion of what, for convenience, we call the same steak, and 
there may be more than enough for both. But there is 
never enough for all who would eat beefsteak, and therefore 
every portion that either of them.eats amounts to depriving 
some other consumer. Whatever a man consumes in the way 
of material goods and conditions means a deprivation for some 
one else. The bed in which he sleeps, the .chair in which he 
sits, the house in which he lives, and the seat which he occu- 
pies at the opera, are all possessed by him at the expense of 
another. And granting that he has a sufficient amount of 

iCh.xii, 1. 



84 HEDONISM 

beefsteak, he still lacks a sufficiency of other things that 
he would like to possess, some of which might have been pur- 
chased with the amount spent for his neighbour's portion of 
steak. Or granting that the opera-house will hold more per- 
sons than would care to hear the opera, even with free admis- 
sion, still it is possible that any one of those present would 
prefer, like Ludwig of Bavaria, to have the others excluded and 
hear the opera alone. There would appear to be no ultimate 
limits to the conceivable demands for material goods on the 
part of even a single individual. However rich he may be, 
it remains always possible that his material satisfaction may 
be increased by the appropriation of something belonging to 
another. 1 Accordingly, it is the demand for the possession 
of material goods, for the appropriation of material conditions 
to our exclusive use — in other words, for sensuous enjoyment 
— which creates the distinction and opposition of individual 
interests. Where exclusive appropriation is not our object, 
there is no distinction between self-interest and the interests 
of others. If I am interested in founding a public institution 
and have no interest in having my name attached to it, my 
own interest in the matter becomes indistinguishable from the 
interests of all others concerned. Or if I am interested in 
the welfare of a friend, without regard to the recognition he 
may accord to my efforts, and without wishing to enjoy any 
superiority as benefactor, the interests of both are again iden- 
tical and indistinguishable. In every case self-interest has 
reference to the appropriation of something which it may cost 
another to give ; and such appropriation means always in its 
last analysis an appropriation of material goods and conditions. 
This conception of self-interest is not only a logical necessity, 
but represents the common-sense understanding of the concep- 
tion as expressed in the term 'selfishness.' At first sight it would 

1 Unlimited individual demand and extremely limited supply are important 
factors in the hedonistic system. See Hume's reference to nature's 'scanty 
provision ' in note on p. 80. 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 85 

appear that many desires are selfish which are not material. 
For example, the love of fame is commonly accounted a selfish 
desire ; yet, we may ask, has it any reference to the portion 
of material goods ? A careful examination will show us that 
it has. For in the love of fame we distinguish the desire 
for the exclusive enjoyment of a certain product of the object 
from the desire for the object as such. If I am interested in 
the solution of a scientific problem, I shall be quite satisfied 
when the solution is found and published, and, though the 
author of the solution, I shall still be quite satisfied if the 
results are published anonymously. But clearly this will not 
satisfy a love of fame. For fame demands that my name be 
publicly attached to the discovery. If any one else makes the 
discovery and publishes it at the same time, my fame is dimin- 
ished, i.e. it is not always spoken of as my discovery, but some- 
times as his. In other words, all the expressions of popular 
admiration with regard to the discovery are not now turned in 
my direction. And this means finally that I do not enjoy the 
exclusive possession of certain material conditions. The same 
is true of other selfish desires. A selfish love for a friend 
means that I wish all my friend's attention and activity to be 
directed exclusively toward myself. A mother's selfish love 
for her child means that she wishes to enjoy all his caresses. 
If she is unselfishly interested in the child's welfare, it will be a 
matter of indifference upon whom the caresses are bestowed. 
Or if she desires not merely his welfare but his confidence, 
sympathy, and respect, she might receive all of these without 
preventing him from taking a similar attitude toward many 
others. But the essential feature of a selfish love is that it de- 
mands not merely confidence and sympathy but a monopoly of 
attention and service. Thus all the demands of self-interest 
come to have the same character as the self-interest expressed 
in the desire for food : they all require the exclusive benefit of 
certain material conditions. 1 

1 See Bradley, Ethical Studies, Essay vii. 



86 HEDONISM 

With this definition before us, we may see what is meant by 
the hedonist when he declares that all of our interest in others is 
ultimately the outcome of self-interest. According to hedonism, 
we are never interested in others for their own sake, or in any 
object for its own sake. All of our actions are directed toward 
the enjoyment of sensuous pleasure. When the mother loves 
her child, it means that she craves the enjoyment of paren- 
tal emotion, — an emotion which is made up partly of 
sexual elements and partly of other sensuous elements; 
and the child is the object through whose activity the 
emotion is stimulated. 1 The lover's affection for his mis- 
tress is ultimately of the same nature, though immediately 
he may not recognise its sensuous character. And the same 
is true of the philanthropist's love for his fellow-men. Their 
recognition of his efforts arouses in him a certain glow of 
pleasant feeling. His heart beats more firmly, his blood flows 
more quickly, and he has a generally heightened sense of 
elasticity and power. In short, he obtains through the good 
will of others, or even (in its absence) from a sense of his own 
superior merit, the same sort of organic stimulation, though in 
a milder degree, that he obtains from wine. He may not be 
aware that this result of his benevolence constitutes his motive ; 
nevertheless he would find that if the exercise of benevolence 
ceased to be sensuously stimulating, it would at the same time 
cease to be interesting. 

4. SELF-INTEREST AND THE GREATEST HAPPINESS ON THE WHOLE 

Self-interest is thus shown to be an interest in sensuous en- 
joyment ; but, as we have seen, the love of pleasure is also a 
desire for sensuous enjoyment ; hence it follows that the love 
of pleasure is identical with the love of self. In other words, 
hedonism in its last analysis is identical with egoism, and egoism 

l See James Mill, Analysis of the Human Mind (ed. 1878), Vol. II, p. 224; 
also Bain's note on p. 230. 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 87 

with hedonism. Lest we be accused here of an artificial and 
illegitimate deduction, it will be well to note that the same 
result is reached through an analysis of the conception of pleas- 
ure. For the desire for pleasure is very clearly a desire to 
enjoy, 1 — to make the feeling in question a part of one's own 
life and consciousness. It is one thing to desire to enjoy pleas- 
ure, but quite another to desire the existence of pleasure in the 
consciousness of some one else. The former is a clearly inter- 
ested demand for feeling, the latter a relatively disinterested 
demand for an abstract result. It is the former which the 
hedonist has in mind when he appeals to the universal desire 
for happiness and to the inconceivability of desiring an object 
except for the happiness it would produce. This also is the in- 
terpretation of hedonistic theory which makes its fundamental 
assumption so obvious and its system as a whole so popular and 
convincing. But to those who hold that happiness is the only 
conceivable object of desire, it is just as inconceivable that a 
man should desire any happiness but his own as that he should 
desire an object which promised no happiness whatever. For 
this reason the more rigorous and consequent of the hedonistic 
school, though urging men to work for the happiness of men 
in general, have always felt the necessity of translating the gen- 
eral happiness into terms of the individual's enjoyment, and of 
showing that by increasing the happiness of men in general he 
obtained to a corresponding degree an increase of his own hap- 
piness. 

If we carefully examine what is meant by the happiness of 
men in general, we shall find that when ' happiness in general ' 
is defined on the basis of happiness alone (the only basis allow- 
able within the limits of hedonism) its demands may be shown 
to be entirely consistent with the demands of the hedonist's 
1 self-interest,' and, indeed, necessarily implied in them. The 
difficulty of connecting self-interest and the general happiness 
lies in the looseness with which the latter is usually defined. 

1 This is denied by Taylor, The Problem of Conduct, pp. 334 ff. 



88 HEDONISM 

The most common expression of it is ' the greatest happiness 
of the greatest number.' It must be immediately clear, how- 
ever, that in ' greatest happiness ' and ' greatest number ' we 
have quantities that may vary in opposite directions ; for it is 
possible that the sum of happiness will be greater in absolute 
amount when its distribution is limited. And as a matter of 
fact we find that the individual capacities for enjoyment show 
wide variations. Some men require a large quantity of the 
world's goods to make them happy or even comfortable, while 
others are relatively content with a little. If, then, goods and 
services are to be distributed with a view purely to a maxi- 
mum of happiness, we shall have to disregard the extent to 
which our goods are distributed, and consider only the several 
individual capacities for enjoyment. In short, we must dis- 
tribute our goods and services where they will be most pro- 
ductive. And we may find men with so little capacity for 
enjoyment, as compared with that of others, that it will not pay 
to consider them at all. It is clear, then, that a regard for 
happiness alone would not involve any consideration of ' the 
greatest number.' On the other hand, ' the greatest num- 
ber' introduces an element for which there is no basis in 
the theory of hedonism. It amounts really to a demand that 
" everybody is to count for one and nobody for more than 
one." Accordingly, ' the greatest happiness of the greatest 
number ' is nothing but the maximum of happiness consistent 
with equal distribution. But evidently the equality of distribu- 
tion has no relation to the maximum of happiness as such. 
When we come to Kant we shall see that the equality of rights 
rests upon a theory of human nature totally at variance with 
that of hedonism. Equal consideration presupposes that men 
as such are ' rational beings,' and that, as rational beings, each 
is to be regarded as an end in himself, and none is to be treated 
as subordinate or inferior to another. Hedonism teaches that 
men are not ' rational beings,' but products of their environ- 
ment, and that, therefore, I owe no one more consideration 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 89 

than his capacities demand. It appears, then, that in 'the 
greatest happiness of the greatest number ' we have a combina- 
tion of mutually contradictory conceptions. 

If, then, we disregard the demands of equality and universality 
and consider those of happiness alone, we shall find that, on the 
basis of the hedonistic theory of human motives, it must inevita- 
bly follow that the necessities of self-interest are identical with 
those of the maximum of happiness as such. We have to remem- 
ber that in the hedonistic person the sole impelling force is the 
desire for pleasure. It must therefore follow that the individ- 
ual's search for pleasure will be energetic and vigorous in pro- 
portion as his desire for pleasure is strong, and his desire will 
be strong in proportion as his capacity for enjoyment is large. 
Hence, the amount of pleasure that he will obtain will be pro- 
portioned to his capacity for enjoyment. The total distribu- 
tion will thus fulfil the conditions necessary for the maximum of 
happiness. 1 

It may be objected that the satisfaction of desire is not nec- 
essarily proportioned to its strength; that, in order to attain 
this result, the individual's abilities must be equal to the strength 
of his desires. But upon reflection it will be clear that this 
equality is provided for in the hedonistic system. For accord- 
ing to hedonism, the pleasure-impulse is the sole determinant, 
not of desire only, but of all the various aspects of our mental 
development. As such it constitutes the sole stimulus to intel- 
lectual effort and intellectual development. Therefore it will 
follow that, in the long run, those who have the greater capacity 
for enjoyment and the greater desire for pleasure will be intel- 
lectually more active and in every way more capable of dealing 

l " Every man is nearer to himself, and dearer to himself, than he can be to 
any other man ; and no other man can weigh for him his pains and pleasures. 
Himself must necessarily be his own first concern. His interest must, to him- 
self, be the primary interest ; nor, on examination, will this position be found 
unfriendly to virtue and happiness ; for how should the happiness of all be 
obtained to the greatest extent, but by the obtainment of every one for himself, 
of the greatest possible portion ? " — Deontology, Vol. I, p. 18. 



90 HEDONISM 

effectively with the conditions of obtaining happiness. If I 
do not make my way through' the crowd and displace my 
neighbour in the attainment of happiness, it proves that my zest 
for enjoyment, and hence my capacity for happiness, is less 
than his, and that, therefore, according to the rule of the maxi- 
mum of happiness, the object should go to him. This does not 
mean, of course, that the maximum is to be obtained by an 
indiscriminate indulgence in brute force. To make the most 
effective use of my powers I have to estimate the amount of 
force that will be opposed to me, and the direction in which it 
is likely to be applied ; and a too violent exercise of force in a 
given direction may be not only useless but destructive. What 
it means is that when I have had a trial of strength with my 
neighbour, and each has discovered how far he is able to hold 
the other in check, the resulting situation, where each is exert- 
ing his maximum amount of effort and resistance, constitutes a 
distribution of goods which fulfils exactly the requirements of a 
maximum of happiness on the whole. 1 

This view of the situation is the expression not only of the 
necessities of hedonism as a scientific theory but of the hedo- 
nistic element in popular thought. It represents an attitude 
quite common among the moneyed classes. A person whose 
income enables him to live at leisure often justifies his privi- 
lege by reference to his finer sensibilities and the more exact- 
ing necessities of his life. He makes a larger demand upon 
the supply of happiness and has a greater appreciation of the 
value of happiness than his simpler neighbours, and therefore it 
is but natural and proper (on the basis of happiness) that he 
should have a greater supply of goods. If we ask him what he 
has done to deserve his privilege, he will tell us that in turning 



1 It must be carefully noted that the identity of self-interest with the maximum 
of happiness on the whole does not necessarily involve the identity of happiness 
with duty, or with social welfare. The present argument shows merely the inner 
coherence of the hedonistic system. How far that system represents the com- 
mon-sense view of morals is another question. 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 91 

money into his private pocket he has accumulated capital for 
the use of commerce ; in the hands of a person with less 
capacity for accumulation this capital would have been dissi- 
pated and lost to public use. If his fortune is inherited, he 
may still claim that by merely keeping his capital together he 
serves a public purpose, which would so far have remained 
unfulfilled if the wealth had fallen into the hands of a more 
shiftless person. In any case the possession of property repre- 
sents not only a larger power of appropriation but a larger 
sense of the value of things, — a sense of value which is not 
possessed to the same degree by those who dissipate their prop- 
erty or who fail to accumulate. A similar view is common 
in commercial life. When a man falls into bankruptcy he no 
doubt excites the compassion and sympathy of his fellow- 
merchants; but their sympathy is largely modified by the 
philosophic view that the fact that the man was unable to hold 
his own proved that he was incapable of managing his business 
in a profitable way and of playing a useful part in the world of 
commerce. He was unsuccessful because he was unable to 
contribute sufficiently to human happiness to secure the recog- 
nition of other men ; therefore he deserved to fail. 1 This is 
the attitude of hedonists generally toward the question of 
desert. A man always gets exactly what he deserves, for what 
he gets represents exactly the amount he has been able to con- 
tribute to the sum of human happiness. 

5. THE HEDONISTIC SOCIETY 

The hedonistic system of social relations is thus at the same 
time an individualism and a collectivism. By these terms I 
distinguish it from the idealistic social system, to be presented 
in a later chapter, 2 which conceives of society as an organism, 
— an organic unity of functions such as is found in the relations 

1 This is the notion of desert implied in the phrase ' survival of the fittest.' 
See also Spencer's Social Statics, particularly his criticism of the poor-laws. 

2 Ch. xii. 



92 HEDONISM 

existing between the different organs of the human body. For 
the hedonist, society is not a harmony of functions, but an 
aggregate of parts or independent units. ' Society ' is simply 
the sum total of the individuals composing it. Each individual 
makes a practically unlimited demand for enjoyment. Each, if 
left to himself, would absorb the whole quantity of human 
goods. Accordingly, when several individuals come together, 
the result is necessarily a conflict of interests. And since no 
one is able to drive all competitors from the field, the final 
outcome of the conflict is a compromise. The nature of the 
compromise will be determined, then, by the intensity with 
which each presses his claim, — in other words, by the relative 
capacities for enjoyment. Now this view of the social situa- 
tion is presupposed in both the individualistic and collectivistic * 
theories of social forces and social welfare. Both conceive of 
society as a mere aggregate of individuals. Both assume that 
the interests of individuals are primarily in conflict, and that 
the result of the conflict must be a compromise. And both 
admit that the conflict must be settled by a trial of strength. 
If there be any difference between them it is this : the individ- 
ualist demands that each man be left free to fight his own 
battles and to take the consequences ; the collectivist proposes 
to unite the majority interest against the minority. 2 But the 
result will be ultimately in both cases the same, for the man of 
large demands will find it advisable to join the stronger party, 
while, on the other hand, the latter will find it to its advan- 
tage to enlist the services of the more capable and to dis- 
encumber itself of the incapable. Individualism is usually, 
therefore, the attitude of a privileged minority, while collectiv- 
ism represents the attitude of a dissatisfied majority. Both 

1 As currently used this term has a wide range of meaning. It will be 
noticed that I restrict it to its etymological sense, i.e. collectivism regards 
society as a ' collection ' of units. 

2 " Property [individualism] is the exploitation of the weak by the strong. 
Communism [collectivism] is the exploitation of the strong by the weak." 
PROUDHON, What is Property? tr. Tucker, p. 261. 



HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 93 

attitudes mean that the social situation has not reached a state 
of final adjustment ; and both sides rest their claims for con- 
sideration in the final adjustment upon the same hedonistic 
grounds, — namely, the extent of their demands for happiness 
and the strength which they are able to exert in enforcing 
them. 1 

The hedonistic theory of society may be expressed, finally, 
in the conception of a composition or resolution of forces. 
Imagine a ball rolling on a billiard table. As long as it remains 
alone it will continue to move (leaving out of consideration the 
limits of the table, the resistance of the air, etc.) uninter- 
ruptedly in its initial direction. But when it meets another ball 
there arises a conflict, which alters the amount and direction of 
motion of each member. The subsequent action of each is 
then the mechanical resultant of the direction and force of its 
original movement compounded with the direction and force of 
the movement of the other ball. And if several balls are brought 
together, their movements and final positions are determined 
each by the resultant of its own force and those exerted by the 
others. The extent to which each is forced out of its way is 
determined, then, by the force with which it comes into the 
conflict compounded with the sum total of opposing forces. 
Now hedonism conceives of the relation between individuals in 
society in exactly this manner. The individual left to himself 
makes unlimited demands for satisfaction, and he will yield to 
nothing but the opposing force of another individual. Society 
means primarily the collision of a number of individuals, which 
later resolves itself into a state of adjustment, or social equilib- 
rium. The place which any individual holds in the final adjust- 
ment is a resultant of the force with which he has entered the 
conflict and of those which were opposed to him. 2 

1 For example (a hedonist might say) capitalists are individualists, trade- 
unionists are collectivists ; both tend to claim all they can get and to justify 
their claims by their power of enforcing them. 

2 That the properties of a mass are dependent upon the attributes of its 
component parts, we see throughout nature. In the chemical combination of 



94 HEDONISM 

The literature on the subject is practically coextensive with the list 
appended to ch. iii. Particular reference may be made to Spencef, 
Data of Ethics, chs. viii, xi-xiv, inclusive; Spencer, Social Statics; Ben- 
tham, Principles of Morals and Legislation; Hume, Treatise on Human 
Nature, Book III; Mill, Utilitarianism, chapter on Justice; Hobbes, 
De Corpore Politico and Leviathan. 

one element with another, Dalton has shown us that the affinity is between 
atom and atom. What we call the weight of a body is the sum of the gravita- 
tive tendencies of its separate particles. The strength of a bar of metal is the 
total effect of an indefinite number of molecular adhesions. And the power 
of the magnet is the cumulative result of the polarity of its independent cor- 
puscles. After the same manner, every social phenomenon must have its origin 
in some property of the individual. And just as the attractions and affinities 
which are latent in separate atoms become visible when those atoms are 
approximated, so the forces which are dormant in the isolated man are 
rendered active by juxtaposition with his fellows. — SPENCER, Social Statics 
(Appleton, 1888) , p. 29. 



CHAPTER VI 
HEDONISM AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 

1. THE HEDONISTIC STANDPOINT AND METHOD 

The hedonistic system of philosophy is the logical outcome 
of a special standpoint and method. The hedonistic stand- 
point is that of external observation as distinguished from that 
of introspection. In undertaking a description of human con- 
duct we have a choice between two points of view, that of the 
agent, or that of the external observer of his action. If we 
adopt the first, we offer an analysis of our feeling of activity ; if 
the second, a description of overt action. The same difference 
of standpoint appears when we undertake to state the distinction 
between right and wrong conduct ; we may consult our own 
sense of right and wrong, or, by observation of the actions of 
others, record the preferences which men in general actually 
make. The hedonist takes the latter course. His description 
of conduct is directed primarily not to the motives of action but 
to action itself, and his definition of right conduct rests primarily 
not upon the verdict of conscience but upon an observation of 
preferences actually made. As a result of this standpoint the 
actions of the lowest animals (if not the movements of inanimate 
objects) may become more truly significant of the real nature 
of human action than any expression of internal feeling, how- 
ever clear and decisive the latter may be. In referring hedo- 
nistic theory to this standpoint, I do not claim, however, 
that hedonists in general make an avowed or exclusive use of 

95 



96 HEDONISM 

it, but merely that it is the point of view which, whether con- 
sciously or unconsciously, underlies their general attitude and 
enables us to give a consistent formulation of the various 
aspects of their theory. 

The hedonistic method of definition, and criterion of reality, is 
that of physical science ; that is to say, the hedonist undertakes 
to explain the different aspects of reality as quantitative varia- 
tions of a homogeneous substance. When an object of any 
kind comes under our observation, there are two questions that 
we may ask about it : first, What is it made of ? secondly, What 
does it do? Either may indicate what is in our opinion the 
essential thing to be known about the object ; either may tell 
us what the object really is as distinct from what it appears to 
be on first sight. The first, when examined more closely, 
comes to mean, What are the parts or the elements of which 
it is constituted? and, further, from a historical standpoint, 
What is the raw material from which it was originally made ? 
The final meaning of the second question is, What does it 
accomplish? or, What purpose does it fulfil? Either question 
may be presupposed in our common judgments about things, 
and both are presupposed in scientific investigation, accord- 
ing as the nature of the subject-matter renders one or the 
other immediately more available. The same man, who as 
a physicist or chemist explains the peculiarities of objects by 
the relations between the atoms composing them, may as a 
zoologist explain the peculiarity of an organ by the function or 
purpose which it fulfils. But science in the strict sense pre- 
supposes ultimately the exclusive use of the first category, that, 
namely, which expresses reality in terms of elements and their 
quantitative relations ; so that a zoologist who, from motives 
of present convenience, adopts the purposive or functional 
method of inquiry, nevertheless looks forward to a higher stage 
of biological science in which it will be possible to explain all 
the peculiarities of living creatures in terms of quantitative 
relations between homogeneous material elements. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 97 

It will be evident that this choice of method is a necessary 
corollary of the hedonistic standpoint. For the purposes of 
human action (if we assume it to be purposive) are not revealed 
to the external observer. The agent himself is conscious of 
what he means to do, but other persons are acquainted only 
with his overt acts. They may, indeed, discover in his actions 
the evidence of a purpose, but in that case their interpretation 
proceeds from the standpoint of their own sense of motive and 
activity as agents. Accordingly, a rigorously consistent hedonist 
would not pretend to attribute human activity to motives or 
purposes. He may no doubt use the language of purpose, 
since this is often the only language in which the details of 
conduct can conveniently be described; but while 'speaking 
with the vulgar ' he is ' thinking with the learned ' ; though 
speaking of pleasure as an end or motive, he thinks of it merely 
as a force governing human action, or as the material of which 
human nature is composed. 

2. THE HEDONISTIC PSYCHOLOGY 

From this choice of standpoint and method we have a system 
of psychology. The hedonistic psychology is that of the asso- 
ciational school. According to this school the mind is a series 
of mental states, of quasi mental pictures, which (a) are various 
combinations of simple, homogeneous mental elements, whose 
form of combination is {U) determined by the order of external 
stimuli. According to the ' law of association ' things that 
coexist tend to cohere. Mental states or elements which have 
originally appeared together become so related that if one 
of them reappears in consciousness it tends to bring the others 
with it ; and since the original coexistence was due to a 
coexistence of external stimuli,, the order of mental states 
tends to copy the external order of events. The original sub- 
stance of mind is thus wholly amorphous and indeterminate, 
like the surface of a blank waxen tablet, and mental structure 



98 HEDONISM 

is the mechanical result of the impressions left by external 
objects. 

The association theory may be regarded first as a theory of 
cognition. The question to be answered by a theory of cogni- 
tion is, How do I know (as of course I do know) that every- 
thing must have a cause and an effect, and that particular things 
are due to particular causes and produce particular effects? 
The associationist answers the question by referring to the 
external conditions under which the conception of cause has 
arisen. This conception is, to begin with, not a simple mental 
state, but one composed of innumerable elements in highly 
intricate relations. The relations are those found in the ex- 
ternal order of events. It is observed, for example, that iron 
sinks, wood floats, etc., and the relations observed between iron 
and sinking, and wood and floating, tend through association to 
become so fixed in the mind that the thought of one brings 
with it the thought of the other. But we discover that iron 
does not invariably sink nor does wood invariably float, since 
iron ships float, while wooden ones sometimes sink. These 
subsequent observations then have the effect of modifying the 
original association of ideas. The thought of iron does not 
now bring with it always the thought of sinking, but rather a 
particular modification of the idea of iron is associated with 
sinking, another modification with floating. Now the causal 
conception is simply the composite result of the whole mass of 
such experiences. The external fact of orderly succession has 
produced in the mind a fixed expectation of order, — an expec- 
tation so fixed that any conception but that of order has become 
a priori impossible. But while the complex of events has 
gradually built up the general expectation of order, it has at the 
same time defined with ever increasing exactness the particular 
nature of the order. The final result, then, is to bring about, in 
the complex of mental elements, a set of associative relations 
which is an approximately exact copy of the external order of 
events. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 99 

The development of will (including desire and impulse), and 
of moral sentiment and character, is a similarly composite 
result. On first sight human impulses show an enormous vari- 
ety ; and prima facie any impulse would appear to be as real 
and as elementary as any other. But for associational psy- 
chology there is no way of explaining this variety, except as 
quantitative variations of a single elementary, and hence real, 
desire — which is then described as a desire for pleasure. Now 
this elementary desire constitutes not merely the material o£ 
which desires are at present composed but that out of which 
they have been historically constructed. Accordingly, in his 
search for the elementary impulse, the hedonist directs his 
attention backward. He then finds that the young infant has 
apparently no desires except the sensuous ones, and from this he 
concludes that the elementary desire is the desire for food and 
animal enjoyment. But, according to the evolutionary concep- 
tion, the development of desire does not begin with the indi- 
vidual infant, nor yet with the species ; its earliest stages must 
be sought among the lower animals. Turning his attention 
then still farther backward, the hedonist finds that the desires 
of the lower animals are still more distinctly sensuous. Sensu- 
ous desire then becomes his type or element of desire. This 
choice of element is to be traced also to the hedonistic stand- 
point. Subjectively there would appear to be no ground for the 
claim that sensuous desires are more elementary than the other 
forms. Just how the desires of an infant are subjectively esti- 
mated we of course do not know ; but to the grown man the 
really vital and fundamental thing seems often to be his busi- 
ness or profession rather than his dinner, and in his family life 
the purely sexual element is often the least important. This 
is usually conceded by psychologists of the associational school. 
What they claim is not that food and sex are the important 
objects in subjective valuation but rather that for the real basis 
of our preferences we are not to consult our subjective valua- 
tion, but rather to record the overt acts of living beings. In 



ioo HEDONISM 

any case the stream cannot rise above its source ; and the stuff 
of which we are made must be the same as that which consti- 
tutes the nature of the lowest animals. 

The development of impulse from simple to complex then 
follows the law of association. The burnt child dreads the 
fire because fire is associated with memories of burnt fingers ; 
he loves his mother because the thought of her suggests all 
manner of comforts of which she is the source ; originally she 
is the source of his food. Simple associations of this character 
are then strengthened and modified by further experience, until 
the final product appears in a highly complex aggregate of 
moral and aesthetic valuations, which then constitutes an approx- 
imately faithful estimate of the opportunities for enjoyment 
afforded by external objects. In this complex state we appear 
often to value the objects of desire for their own sake, to dis- 
cover intrinsic worth in filial affections, intrinsic meanness in 
ingratitude. In other words, the desires for such objects 
appear to be elementary and original. But this simplicity and 
originality is wholly illusory. The moral impulses are as purely 
the result of association as the child's dread of the fire ; they 
differ from the latter merely in their greater complexity, which 
is due to the greater extent of experience upon which they 
rest. The vast extent of this antecedent experience is a point 
upon which the associationist places special emphasis. When 
doubt is expressed as to the possibility of transforming, through 
the mere force of association, sensuous impulses into reverence 
for ideals or selfish impulses into those which are disinterested, 
the associationist points always to the length of time through 
which the process of association has been taking place ; noth- 
ing is impossible for association if the process be sufficiently 
extended. 

Since moral valuation is the result of external conditions, it 
follows that the hedonist is a believer in determinism as opposed 
to free will. Just what is meant by free will is not always clear. 
According to the more usual interpretation, it means that action 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 101 

is not determined in any way, — neither by mechanical condi- 
tions nor by conscious estimates of value ; according to Kant 
and his school, it means that action is determined by ' reason,' 
that is, by conscious estimates of value, but not by mechanical 
conditions ; in the latter definition it is assumed that irrational 
actions are due to the blind forces of habit and association. 
On either definition it is clear that the hedonist is a deter- 
minist ; for he believes that all activity, including that which 
follows apparently upon consciousness and foresight as well as 
that which is apparently blind and mechanical, is ultimately the 
inevitable outcome of external mechanical conditions. This 
position is also a logical consequence of the standpoint of ex- 
ternal observation ; for, viewed externally, the actions of men 
are nothing but the effects of external stimuli ; like the actions 
of physical objects they are resultants of physical conditions. 
It is only from the inner standpoint of feeling that they seem to 
be an original product of self-activity. And it is to be noted 
in this connection that, in our naive judgments about freedom, 
we are inclined to claim freedom for our own acts while assert- 
ing the acts of others to be determined. It may further be 
mentioned that, while moralists of other schools call themselves 
sometimes determinists and sometimes libertarians, a hedonist 
is almost invariably an avowed determinist. 

3. THE HEDONISTIC BIOLOGY 

Psychology and biology are confronted with parallel forms of 
problem; both have to determine how far the life-process 
under consideration is an active expression of the nature of the 
organism and how far it is the passive result of environmental 
conditions. But in the last analysis it is not a mere parallelism 
which renders the biological problem of interest to psychologists 
and moralists, but rather' an identity. Since the introduction of 
evolutionary conceptions into psychology and ethics, the all- 
important question has been that of origin and development. 
The individual comes into the world with certain instincts 



102 HEDONISM 

already formed; the question is, Where did they come from? 
A few years ago, even after the introduction of the evolution- 
hypothesis, it was commonly assumed that, while inherited 
instincts are numerous in the lower animals, they are relatively 
few in men ; that what animals do by instinct is with men the 
result of association and experience. Professor James has 
shown, however, that, if anything, the human instincts are more 
numerous than those of animals, — so numerous, indeed, as to 
render it probable that most human actions are thus specifically 
provided for. This being the case, it is evident that a theory 
of human activity becomes very largely a theory of the origin of 
instincts ; and since the origin of most instincts was antecedent 
to the development of a distinctly human species, the question 
takes us out of the field of psychology as such into the wider 
field of biology. 

The biological problem may be introduced by the question, 
Are acquired characteristics inherited? This is answered 
affirmatively by one school of biologists, commonly known as 
the school of Lamarck, negatively by the school of Weismann. 
According to the former, every part of the human body con- 
tains formative material, that is, material which may be instru- 
mental in forming not only the body in question but those of its 
progeny. Any modification which occurs in the parent body 
may then, through a modification of the formative material 
present in the part modified, be communicated to the offspring ; 
any modification due to environmental conditions may con- 
sequently be inherited. According to the Weismann school 
the formative material and the body material (described 
respectively as germ plasm and so?natoplasni) are totally dis- 
tinct; a modification of the individual body will therefore have 
no effect upon those of the progeny. The formative or germ 
plasm passes from the parent body and forms the body of the 
offspring without in any way sharing the vicissitudes of either. 
According to this view, evolution is a matter of natural selec- 
tion. The possibilities of the germ plasm are indefinite. If 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 103 

the environmental conditions were similarly indefinite, any of 
these possibilities might appear as actual characteristics of the 
animal type in question. But as a matter of fact the environ- 
mental conditions are definite and limited ; and as such they 
exercise a restrictive effect upon the development of the possi- 
bilities contained in the germ plasm, so that only those are 
actually realised which are able to satisfy the conditions imposed 
by environment. So far, then, the distinction between the two 
views amounts to this : according to one, the environment may 
initiate a modification {i.e. create an instinct) ; according to 
the other, it can merely restrict the operation of instincts already 
inherent in the organism. 

But the vital point of the controversy lies deeper. It has to 
do not only with the inheritance of acquired characteristics, but 
with what is implied as to the mode of development of all char- 
acteristics. The question resolves itself ultimately into this : 
which is primarily and fundamentally responsible for the course 
of human and animal development, the environment or the 
inherent nature of the organism? Now the Lamarckian places 
the burden of responsibility upon the environment. In other 
words, it is his object to show that all the characteristics of 
human and animal life are due entirely to environmental influ- 
ences ; that these influences are not limited to the creation of 
primitive forms of instinct, nor yet to the subsequent modification 
of primitive forms, but are constantly active in the creation of new 
forms both of structure and functional activity. Accordingly, 
whatever stability and continuity of character our human life may 
show is due entirely to a constancy of environmental conditions. 

The Weismann point of view, on the other hand, in claiming 
that no acquired characteristics are inherited, necessarily implies 
that all inherited characters have been present in the organism, 
at least in the structure of the germ plasm, from the beginning 
of evolution. 1 This implication is openly expressed in Weis- 

1 For convenience I assume that evolution begins with the origin of multicel- 
lular organisms. I leave out of account the modifications of the Weismann 



104 HEDONISM 

mann's theory of the absolute stability and continuity of the 
germ plasm, in which it is held that the elements of the germ 
plasm have been wholly undisturbed and unmodified since the 
origin of life. Now if the germ plasm is the vehicle of all 
the characters that are inherited, it follows that all the general 
and fundamental human characteristics (those which are exhib- 
ited by successive generations as distinct from those which are 
peculiar to individuals) have been present in the germ plasm 
since the beginning of evolution. Each of them was specifically 
provided for in the original constitution of the germ plasm; 
none of them has been created or in any way modified by any 
circumstances that have occurred later. Accordingly, the 
Weismann point of view places the burden of responsibility for 
the character of human life upon the original constitution of the 
organism. Through the process of selection the environment 
has, of course, eliminated many of the original constituents, 
but it has never created a single positive character. 

If we accept this interpretation of the biological controversy, 
it will not be difficult to see that the hedonistic moralist is 
definitely committed to one side of the controversy — the 
Lamarckian side — and opposed to the other. In a later 
chapter I shall endeavour to show that the idealistic theory is 
similarly committed to the Weismann view. For the present 
we have to note that the assumption of inherent tendencies of 
any degree of stability and continuity is wholly contrary to the 
spirit of hedonism. From the hedonistic standpoint the 
fundamental characteristic of human nature is its tendency 
toward passive conformity. There are no specific impulses to 
satisfy, no specific ends to be accomplished ; our only object 
is to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in view of the 

view involved in the distinction of unicellular and multicellular. Moreover, 
since our main interest in the Weismann view is its character as the expression 
of a thought tendency, I have disregarded the later modifications of his theory, 
which, as it seems to me, tend to obscure the original point at issue. For a 
statement of Weismann's view see his work on The Germ Plasm (tr. Parker 
and Ronnfeldt) ■ also Romanes, An Examination of Weismannistn. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 105 

existing conditions ; and provided we are comfortable, it 
matters not what kind of a life we lead. This view of the 
matter is implied also in the popular notion of 'pleasure,' 
or 'happiness.' To the naive mind the most distinct 
characteristic of happiness is contentment. The happy man 
is the contented man, and the ' pleasure-loving ' person is the 
one who drifts with the current of circumstances. The life 
which is pleasant on the whole is that which is relatively easy, 
comfortable, and free from care, — that in which there is the 
least element of struggle with adverse conditions. The sci- 
entific exponent of hedonism simply elaborates the popular 
conception, converting the easy and comfortable life into a life 
which conforms to the conditions of the environment, and 
assuming, as a basis for the duty of seeking ease and comfort, 
that passive conformity is the fundamental characteristic of 
human nature. 

Now in making a concrete application of his theory, the 
hedonist has to face the fact — or what seems to be a fact — 
that, in many of our activities, we ignore all considerations 
of ease and comfort, and bend our energies toward the attain- 
ment of some special end, — that, instead of conforming to the 
environment, we set out to make the environment conform to 
us. This is especially evident in the case of our more pro- 
nounced instinctive activities. In the operation of sexual 
instinct, using the term in its wider significance, there is no 
thought of the conditions of ease and comfort. A man who is 
genuinely in love hardly pauses to estimate the material com- 
forts of attaining his desired object ; rather he demands the 
object for its own sake without regard to its cost. This is the 
characteristic also of the more distinctively moral impulses. 
The demand for honour and justice is apparently a blind im- 
pulse, so far as any thought of material convenience is con- 
cerned ; it is enough that the objects themselves be realised. 

How, then, is the hedonist to treat such impulses? What 
theory may he hold with regard to their origin? Biological 



106 HEDONISM 

theory suggests two possibilities : they may be the reflection 
of previous environmental conditions, or the expression of 
tendencies which have been inherent in the organism (un- 
alterably stable, unbrokenly continuous in the germ plasm) 
since the beginning of life. It is evident that, if the latter 
alternative be accepted, the hedonist gives up his case. For 
the fundamental characteristic of human nature is then no 
longer a passive conformity to the conditions of happiness; 
and conformity can, therefore, no longer be regarded as the 
substance of duty. So far as these special impulses are 
fundamental to our nature, the attainment of their several 
ends becomes a moral obligation, without regard to the attend- 
ant happiness. The germ-plasm theory is thus fundamentally 
opposed to the theory of hedonism. On the other hand, the 
Lamarckian view is just what is needed to complete the hedo- 
nistic system. For what the hedonist wishes to prove with 
regard to these specialised instincts is that the disregard 
of environmental conditions is after all only apparent, that in 
reality they are nothing but a larger and more complete con- 
formity. For this purpose he requires a system of evolution 
which would guarantee this result. This system is furnished 
by the Lamarckian school of biology. The fundamental 
assumption of this school is that the organism is a relatively 
passive and plastic substance, having no inherent tendencies 
of its own, no permanent and stable forms of germ plasm, — in 
fact, no capacities whatever except the capacity for receiving 
impressions from the environment and suffering constant modi- 
fications through environmental changes. On the basis of this 
hypothesis it will inevitably follow that our tendencies are on 
the whole a faithful copy of environmental conditions and 
that, except in the case of tendencies incompletely formed, 
those which seem to run counter to these conditions represent 
in their last analysis nothing but a finer and more complete 
conformity. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 107 



4. THE HEDONISTIC COSMOLOGY 

It appears, then, in tracing backward the development of 
moral consciousness, that a large part of the process was purely 
physiological, and, according to hedonistic theory, due to the 
action of physical forces upon the animal organism. Now it is 
the tendency of hedonistic and associational theory to extend 
this purely physiological interpretation to the whole course of 
human development, making it cover the later and more con- 
scious stages of the process as well as the earlier and relatively 
unconscious. The hedonist tends, in other words, to ignore 
the presence of consciousness in the higher stages, to assign the 
real work in the process of development to the brain and 
nervous system, and to regard even the ' association of ideas ' 
as a merely convenient formula for describing events which take 
place in the brain. This tendency is already implicit in the 
standpoint of external observation ; for what we observe from 
this point of view is not the course of ideas but the reaction of 
the organism to external conditions. It is again implied in the 
view which makes the course of thought a copy of the series of 
external events. For, as all psychologists will admit, the state 
of consciousness at any moment is by no means an adequate rep- 
resentative of the whole external situation ■ of the innumerable 
possibilities of sensation contained in the environment at any 
particular moment only a few are represented in actual sensation; 
and it is clear that, if consciousness and idea are a necessary fea- 
ture in mental development, a great part of the environment will 
fail to be represented, while, on the other hand, every physical 
stimulus which reaches the sense-organs must, whether repre- 
sented in consciousness or not, be recorded in the nervous 
system and have an ultimate effect in determining the activity 
of the agent. Accordingly, the associational psychologist, 
though using the language of consciousness, finds it more 
satisfactory to locate the associational process in the brain ; for 
it is there that all the real work is done. He prefers also, with 



108 HEDONISM 

Spencer, to refer the identity of pleasure and duty to the 
operation of natural law rather than to a process of conscious 
calculation ; for it is impossible to say how far the pleasant and 
painful qualities of objects will be noted by consciousness 
while the brain is an ' organised register ' (to repeat Spencer's 
phrase) of all the conditions at any time present in the environ- 
ment of the individual or of his ancestors. 

From this position, which regards mind as a mere spectator 
in the process of development, it is but a step to that which 
affirms that consciousness as such has no real existence. The 
latter is what hedonism comes to stand for in its more extreme 
aspects. Already we have noticed that the hedonist, even 
while using the language of consciousness, thinks of conscious- 
ness as nothing more than (a) a blind tendency to seek the 
immediately pleasurable and shun the immediately painful, to- 
gether with (b) a tendency to retain impressions in the order in 
which they are imprinted by the environment. Upon this basis 
consciousness has very little to do with shaping the destinies of 
the organism. It may exist as a fact in itself, but its activities 
are fully determined from outside. The physical forces are the 
real agents ; it is they that pull the strings, press the buttons, 
determine the specific ideas to be thought of and the specific 
objects to be desired. It would seem, then, that in the inter- 
ests of rationality and theoretical simplicity it would be well to 
revoke the original separateness and independence of the 
mental factor, and to make it a derivative of the physical 
world. And this is the attitude which hedonistic writers tend 
finally to take. Mr. Spencer, for example, though unwilling to 
be called a materialist, has given us an elaborate account of 
the development of consciousness out of a world which was 
originally purely material ; he tells us that the rudimentary 
psychical act is not to be distinguished from a physical act, that 
sensations are composed of nervous shocks, and that con- 
sciousness is the product of a quick succession of changes in a 
ganglion. The same view appears in his assertion that the 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 109 

biological, psychological, and sociological views of conduct are 
merely corollaries of the physical view. Mill also, though far 
from being an extreme hedonist, confesses that his psychology 
is materialistic, though not, as he adds, in the ' obnoxious ' 
sense. 

With this in mind we may outline a hedonistic cosmology, or 
history of the world as a whole. The hedonist returns in 
imagination to a time when there was no consciousness and no 
life in the world, nothing but a countless number of simple, 
homogeneous atoms moving blindly about in accordance with 
the law of gravitation. Concentrations of such atoms into 
relatively compact groups resulted in the formation of the solar 
system. Within these groups certain relatively simple combina- 
tions of atoms have formed, through the differences in their 
manner of combination, the different chemical and physical 
substances ; more complex relations of atoms are represented 
in the phenomena of life ; and still more complex relations in 
the phenomena of consciousness. The evolutionary process, 
one might say then, has advanced from a complete homo- 
geneity to a heterogeneity, from a state in which nothing 
exists but simple atoms to one which exhibits such differences 
as those found between the various kinds of material objects 
and between inanimate objects and living beings. But these 
differences are after all unimportant; they do not touch 
the real substance of things. In reality the human being is 
composed of the same material as a worm, a tree, a stone, a 
steam engine ; and the real principle of activity is in all these 
objects the same. And in reality there has been no progress 
whatever. The world is, in short, nothing but what it ever was, — 
an aggregate of atoms acting according to the law of gravitation. 
The real man is, therefore, not the conscious, purposive being 
that he feels himself to be, but merely an aggregate of atoms, — 
an aggregate whose inner relations are, indeed, more difficult 
to comprehend than those of simpler physical and chemical 
substances, but whose material and principle of action is not 



no HEDONISM 

different in kind. Since, then, the conception of a personality 
acting according to a sense of value and constituting a factor 
distinct from the force of gravitation is a mere illusion, it is 
useless to devote ourselves to its special cultivation. The real 
object of life (so far as we may speak of an object of life from 
this extreme standpoint) is, crudely speaking, to conform to the 
law of gravitation, — that is, to study the physical laws which 
determine our existence and to live in accordance with them. 1 

l The following passages from eighteenth-century literature illustrate the 
philosophical attitude of the hedonist. The attentive reader will detect the same 
philosophical motive in Spencer, expressed, of course, in more modern terms. 

" Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign 
masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we ought 
to do, as well as to determine what we shall do. On the one hand the 
standard of right and wrong, on the other the chain of cause and effect, are 
fastened to their throne. They govern us in all we do, in all we say, in all we 
think ; every effort we can make to throw off our subjection will serve but to 
demonstrate and confirm it. In words a man may pretend to abjure their 
empire ; but in reality he will remain subject to it all the while. The principle of 
utility recognises this subjection, and assumes it for the foundation of that system, 
the object of which is to rear the fabric of felicity by the hands of reason and of 
law." — BENTHAM, Principles of Morals and Legislation, opening paragraph. 

" If we receive at our birth only wants, in these wants and in our first desires 
we must seek the origin of the artificial passions, which can be nothing more 
than the unfolding of the faculty of sensation. Perhaps both in the moral and 
natural world, God originally implanted only one principle in all he created, 
and that what is and what is to be is only the necessary unfolding of this 
principle. He said to Matter, ' I endow thee with power.' Immediately the 
elements subject to the laws of motion, but wandering and confused in the 
deserts of space, formed a thousand monstrous assemblages, and produced a 
thousand different chaoses till they at last placed themselves in that equilibrium 
and natural order in which the Universe is now supposed to be arranged. He 
seems to have said to Man, ' I endow thee with sensation, the blind instrument 
of my will, that, being incapable of penetrating into the depths of my views, 
thou mayst accomplish all my designs. I place thee under the guardianship 
of pleasure and pain : both shall watch over thy thoughts and thy actions : 
they shall produce thy passions, excite thy friendship, thy tenderness, thine 
aversion, thy rage : they shall kindle thy desires, thy fears, thy hopes : they 
shall take off the veil of truth : they shall plunge thee into error, and, after 
having made thee conceive a thousand absurd and different systems of moral- 
ity and government, shall some day discover to thee the simple principles on 
the unfolding of which depends the order and happiness of the moral world." " 
— Helvetius, De I' Esprit, Essay III, ch. ix, English translation, p. 248. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY in 

The hedonistic theory may then be regarded as a mechanical 
view of conduct. The ethical theory implies immediately a 
mechanical psychology, which attributes all the phenomena of 
conscious life to combinations of simple mental elements ; more 
remotely, a mechanical biology which translates the mental ele- 
ments into physiological elements and the law of association 
into a biological law; and finally, a mechanical cosmology 
which reduces all the^reality of the world to simple physical ele- 
ments governed by one physical law. 

On the hedonistic standpoint and method, see Wundt, Ethics, Part III, 
ch. i, 2, d\ Stephen, The Science of Ethics, pp. 359 ff. 

For an illustration of the method, see Jevons, Political Ecotiomy, 
chs. i, ii, iii. 

On the hedonistic psychology, see James Mill, Analysis of the Human 
Mind, particularly Vol. II, chs. xxi, xxii, xxiii; Spencer, Principles of 
Psychology ; Spencer, Data of Ethics, ch. vii (showing the special appli- 
cation of evolutionary-associational theory to ethics) ; Ziehen, Introduc- 
tion to Physiological Psychology, ch. ix (a very clear and straightforward 
statement of association theory revealing its physiological background) ; 
Gay, Concerning Virtue and Morality (in Selby-Bigge's British Moralists'). 

On the hedonistic biology read Romanes, Examination of Weismann- 
ism; Spencer, Principles of Biology, Part III, chs. viii-xiv ; First Prin- 
ciples, Part II. 

On the hedonistic cosmology, see Huxley's essays on Evolution and 
Ethics ; Spencer, Data of Ethics, ch. v; Lange, History of Materialism, 
Second Book, Second Section, ch. iii. 



CHAPTER VII 

HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 

1. THE COMMON-SENSE SCALE OF VALUES 

Having completed the theoretical formulation of hedonism, 
we shall now undertake a criticism of the hedonistic view from 
the standpoint of common sense. For this purpose we require, 
first of all, as a basis for examination, a description of the 
common-sense standard, or scale of values. Any complete 
and systematic description is of course out of the question. 
If there were any complete agreement with regard to the 
details of morality, there would have been no problem to begin 
with. But in the absence of a complete agreement there is 
always a certain community of point of view from which the 
moral problem may be formulated, and the claims of opposing 
theories examined and weighed. We shall therefore confine 
our description of the common-sense standpoint to those fea- 
tures with regard to which we may assume a general agreement 
in the moral consciousness of to-day. 

For common sense of to-day moral valuations imply relative 
distinctions of better and worse rather than absolute distinc- 
tions of good and bad. A few years ago it was customary to 
think of moral conduct as a conformity to certain definite 
rules, such as those of honesty, justice, and chastity. On this 
basis men and acts, character and conduct, were classified into 
absolutely good or bad, according as they exhibited a conform- 
ity to the rules in question. But the entrance of evolutionary 
conceptions into the field of thought has had the effect, here as 
elsewhere, of translating hard and fast distinctions into those 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 113 

that are purely relative. When we think of moral character as 
a growth, whose beginnings are lost in the uncertain regions of 
the beginnings of life, and whose completion is still far beyond 
the limits of definite foresight, it becomes impossible to think 
of goodness as »a quality which arises suddenly at a particular 
point in the process, and which applies then without further 
distinction to all its subsequent phases, or of badness as a 
quality which belongs without distinction of degree to all forms 
of character and conduct which have not reached that point. 
Rather must we think of goodness or badness in terms of the 
direction which moral growth takes, a good man being one 
who, as compared with a bad man, stands higher in the scale 
of moral evolution. It appears also, upon examination of the 
individual virtues, or moral rules, that the distinctions contained 
in them are, after all, not absolute. Honesty, for example, is 
clearly a matter of degree. There is a grade of honesty which 
confines itself to the fulfilment of legal obligations, a higher 
grade which recognises all obligations expressly incurred, and 
a still higher grade which recognises obligation without regard 
to express stipulation. Again, there is an honesty which prac- 
tises only those deceptions allowed by the conventional code, 
an honesty which refuses to commit any overt act of deception, 
and finally, an honesty which refuses even to acquiesce in a 
simple concealment, — which demands, for example, that, as the 
seller of an article, one not only refrain from misrepresentation, 
but see that the buyer be fully and accurately informed of its 
quality and value. A man who fulfils any of these require- 
ments is to a degree honest, but a man who falls short of the 
highest is also to a degree dishonest. There are also degrees 
of chastity, from a chastity with regard to deed to a chastity of 
speech and thought. We may say, then, that, for the common 
sense of our time, morality is a matter of degree ; men and 
acts are not good and bad, but only better and worse, accord- 
ing as they stand higher or lower in the scale of moral 
evolution. 
1 



114 HEDONISM 

Now the scale of moral evolution is identical with the scale 
of evolution in general. By this it is meant that the develop- 
ment of moral consciousness is coordinate and ultimately 
identical with that of intellect and aesthetic appreciation. A 
sharp distinction is sometimes drawn between moral character, 
on the one side, and intellectual brilliancy, or aesthetic appre- 
ciation, on the other. It is said that a man may be of a high 
order of intellect and yet a rogue, and all the more dangerous 
a rogue because of his intellectual power ; also that a man may 
have a fine sense of beauty with no sense of moral obligation. 
But these distinctions are now fast disappearing both from 
psychology and common sense. If you will carefully study the 
character and thought of those with whom you are brought 
into intimate contact, you will find that, generally speaking, a 
fine sense of honour is not to be found in a person who is in- 
tellectually dull, and, conversely, that one who is incapable of 
appreciating the finer moral distinctions is also incapable of 
comprehending the finer distinctions in the field of thought. 
For that matter, bluntness of any kind is incompatible with a 
really high order of intellect. It will be found, also, that one 
who is deficient in moral sense is likely to be correspondingly 
deficient in sense of beauty. And it is fair to say that, in the 
case of those poets who have been conspicuously deficient in 
moral sense, it is just this lack of moral earnestness which pre- 
vents them from attaining the best grade of artistic result. 
And, finally, a person whose aesthetic perceptions are coarse is 
not capable of appreciating the finer aspects of morality. 

Psychologically these contrasts between intellectual, aesthetic, 
and moral are the expression of a now obsolete view which 
divided the mind into separate compartments of intellect, feel- 
ing, and will. The more modern view is that the mind in its 
development develops as a whole, and in its activity acts always 
as a whole. Consequently there cannot be a development in 
one direction which is not at the same time a development in 
all directions. Ethically these contrasts were the outcome of 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 115 

a narrow sectarian morality which regarded intellectual activity 
as an attack upon divine truth and beauty as a sinful luxury. 
But in our present broader standpoint such contrasts have no 
place ; it is now difficult to conceive of any kind of value — 
moral, logical, economic, aesthetic — which is not ultimately a 
value for the cultural process as a whole. 

Turning now to the concrete aspects of moral growth, the 
contrast between higher and lower may perhaps be most easily 
stated in terms of ideal aspirations and material necessities. 
The lower and more elementary phases of moral activity are 
concerned chiefly with the necessities of life. The satisfaction 
of these needs takes up a large part of our commercial, indus- 
trial, and domestic activities. The higher moral life is an 
endeavour to extend our activities beyond the satisfaction of 
mere necessities, and to attain a complete and perfect develop- 
ment of our human nature ; this means, on the one hand, a 
development of the more spiritual qualities, including, of course, 
intellectual insight and artistic appreciation, on the other a de- 
velopment of social sympathy. The lower impulses are those, 
therefore, which are confined to the mere preservation of life, 
while the higher aim at its completion and perfection. This is 
the distinction made by Spencer between ' length and breadth 
of life,' and by Mill between ' quantity and quality of pleas- 
ure.' Generally speaking, the lower impulses represent a pas- 
sive acquiescence in the conditions of existence, a love of ease 
and contentment, a following of the line of least resistance, 
while the higher impulses show an active effort toward the 
attainment of specific ideal ends. 

Since, however, the distinction between higher and lower is 
merely relative, it follows that the distinction between material 
necessities and ideal aspirations is also relative. The neces- 
sities of existence are by no means the same for the civilised 
and the savage, or for the higher and lower forms of civilised 
life. A civilised man perishes under conditions in which the 
savage survives ; and one who is accustomed to the niceties of 



n6 HEDONISM 

food, the means of cleanliness, light, and ventilation, and, in 
general, to the improved sanitary conditions, which are to be 
found among the well-to-do, will find it difficult to accommo- 
date himself to the conditions of existence which prevail among 
the very poor ; the difficulty may be so great as to constitute a 
serious menace to health and life. Yet under their own con- 
ditions the very poor manage to exist and to maintain a certain 
grade of cultural activity, looking upon the improved condi- 
tions as ideal rather than necessary, or, to the extent that the 
latter lie wholly outside of their point of view, as mere luxuries. 
It is to be noted, however, that what may be a luxury from 
the lower standpoint becomes, nevertheless, a necessity from 
the higher; for example, the conditions of food and lodging 
which enable the common labourer to perform his daily task 
would be utterly incompatible with the more varied and intense 
activities which take place upon a higher intellectual level. 
Material necessities and ideal aspirations are consequently rela- 
tive to the stage of culture from which the distinction is made. 
If we think of the course of evolution as a straight line, the 
individual moral standpoints will be situated at different points 
along the line ; for each standpoint there is a certain region 
within which the moral conflict occurs ; and for each there is a 
point which marks off material necessities from ideal aspira- 
tions ; one direction along the line is the direction of neces- 
sities, the opposite is the direction of ideals. 

For purposes of concrete description we may conveniently 
distinguish three grades of moral life. The lowest is a purely 
animal morality which studies only the conditions of animal 
ease and contentment; the highest, which may be called a 
spiritual morality, represents a strenuous endeavour toward a 
perfect form of existence. Between the two there lies what we 
may call a common household morality, which, as against an 
animal morality, is marked chiefly by the virtues of industry, 
thrift, and common commercial honesty, but, in contrast to the 
spiritual morality, regards any higher effort as uncalled for. 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 117 

The last represents the standpoint of much the larger num- 
ber of men. At first sight this classification might appear to 
rest upon the conventional distinction of social classes. But 
though there is necessarily a partial correspondence between 
moral and social distinctions, inasmuch as those who stand 
higher in the conventional scale have fewer temptations toward 
the grosser forms of immorality, and at the same time greater 
opportunities for enlightenment, yet the two are on the whole 
far from coincident ; and in any case the conventional social 
classification furnishes a very insecure basis for moral valuation. 
The several moral grades are intended, however, to represent 
the several grades of culture. 

So much for the common-sense point of view. Now it is to 
be noted that within this point of view there are variations of 
emphasis and interpretation. The hedonist, while assenting 
to the general distinction between animal and spiritual ends, 
and yielding to the latter a generally higher value, would be 
careful to point out that only the former have an original and 
real value. Spiritual aims are of importance only as means to 
improved material conditions. He would tend consequently 
to lay somewhat less emphasis upon the strenuous pursuit of 
spiritual ends than the idealist, to whom (as we shall see more 
fully later) they are of prime importance. The idealist, on the 
other hand, would lay somewhat less emphasis upon the animal 
necessities. 

2. HEDONISM AND THE COMMON-SENSE SCALE 

We may now proceed to examine the theory of hedonism. 
How far is it true that the moral and cultural scale is simply a 
quantitatively ascending scale of happiness ? In other words, 
how far is it true that the higher moral activities are simply 
improved methods for the maintenance of physical health, 
material welfare, sensuous enjoyment, animal contentment? 

In our discussion of this question it will be convenient to dis- 
tinguish between the positive assertion of hedonism, to the effect 



n8 HEDONISM 

that the higher morality marks an increase of material welfare, 
and the negative assertion, to the effect that it has no other 
meaning. The positive side may be quickly disposed of by 
admitting it. For in the present day it will hardly be doubted 
that higher morality includes an improvement in material con- 
ditions. In contrasting the middle grade of morality with the 
lower, this aspect is immediately obvious ; there can be no 
question that common honesty, industry, and thrift stand for an 
advance in material welfare. In the higher grades the corre- 
spondence is less obvious, yet reflection will show it to be none 
the less a fact. For, as we have seen, a higher sense of moral 
and aesthetic fitness includes generally an advancement in intel- 
lectual capacity ; and though the objects of higher intellectual 
effort be not directly material, yet there can be no doubt that 
every advance in intellectual power will result eventually in 
improved material conditions. These higher qualities do not 
necessarily improve the condition of the individual who pos- 
sesses them ; from a material standpoint they may be to his 
disadvantage ; but they will in any case be of ultimate advan- 
tage to his community. 

From our present-day standpoint it is inconceivable that there 
should be any general advance in culture which should not be 
an improvement in physical conditions. Every advance in cul- 
ture involves increased demands upon the physical organism ; 
and these demands must be met by a more adequate organisa- 
tion of physical conditions, — for example, by an improvement 
in the quality of the food supply and by an increase in its 
security — so as to leave the attention free for the considera- 
tion of other objects. The development of a high type of cul- 
ture is not possible where animal existence is itself insecure. 
The best types of intellectual activity, and the finer expressions 
of art, presuppose a condition of relative leisure, that is, a 
condition of relative freedom from tfie cares imposed by the 
struggle for existence. The same is true of the specifically 
moral qualities. A fine sense of honour implies a nicety and 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 119 

justness of discrimination, a delicacy of appreciation, which 
is impossible under conditions where men are constantly en- 
gaged in the struggle for mere existence. This relation between 
physical and moral welfare is clearly recognised in the moral 
consciousness of our time. Moral worth no longer demands 
the mortification of the flesh. On the contrary, physical health 
is now regarded as an important aid to moral growth. 

The negative assertion of hedonism, to the effect that spirit- 
ual values are nothing more than larger material values (using 
these terms in their concrete significance) is in my opinion 
without justification. The argument commonly advanced for 
it is inconclusive. As opposed to the older form of intuitional 
theory 1 which claimed that each of the moral activities had its 
independent value, it is certainly successful in showing that the 
value of each depends upon its particular function in the gen- 
eral economy of human nature, but it does not succeed in 
showing that the human economy is exclusively hedonistic. 
Hedonists tend to confound these two propositions, — to 
assume that if moral conduct can be shown to involve a co- 
ordination of activities toward an end, the end must necessarily 
be that of pleasure or material well-being. 

Let us now look at some typical cases of the hedonistic 
argument. 

(a) First, honesty is nothing but a method for maintaining 
and increasing material prosperity. The hedonist argues that 
men depend upon each other for their sustenance ; that the 
sum total of wealth is increased by cooperation ; that mutual 
confidence is, therefore, necessary to human existence and wel- 
fare. And so far the argument is undoubtedly valid. But its 
validity is not peculiar to the situation where the welfare in 
question is exclusively material ; for it is clear that human pur- 
poses will be furthered by cooperation, whatever they may be. 
This would be just as true if the purposes were pain and self- 
destruction. Now in noting the different degrees of honesty 

1 Ch. ix. 



120 HEDONISM 

we find that, while material well-being is everywhere more or 
less included in the object aimed at, and is no doubt distinctly 
emphasised in the more elementary stages, yet, in the higher 
stages, the emphasis is transferred from this aspect of the ob- 
ject to another which is now more important — that, namely, 
of personal sympathy. The higher degrees of honesty are 
shown chiefly in the more intimate and personal relations, in 
which we meet the more human side of life as distinct from 
the material or commercial side. In such relations, to the 
extent that they are personal and intimate, we look for confi- 
dence and frankness. We expect a business acquaintance to 
be on his guard, and to preserve a certain reticence {e.g.) with 
regard to the cost and market value of objects offered for sale; 
and we even allow a positive falsehood to pass without any feel- 
ing more pronounced than that of annoyance. But a falsehood 
from a friend is a distinctly personal injury. We expect more 
from him than from a mere acquaintance. His utility, if we 
may so term it, is not a matter of material utility only, as in 
the case of a servant or a business acquaintance. True friend- 
ship, no doubt, includes an offer of services when needed ; 
but this is not the consideration emphasised; and it is not the 
object lost in a breach of faith. All other considerations are 
here lost to sight in the all-important fact that a breach of faith 
on the part of a friend is a sundering of personal relations, a 
vote of lack of confidence, a withdrawal of personal sympathy. 
In this we have the end or purpose which determines our high 
valuation of the sense of honour; among the several objects 
which give value to human life scarcely any is more important 
than that of sympathetic relations with our fellows ; and the 
primary condition of sympathetic relations is mutual confidence. 
A hedonist, while admitting that the relations which appear 
in our conscious valuation are substantially as I have described 
them, may nevertheless hold that the intrinsic value of sym- 
pathy is illusory. Personal sympathy is simply the most perfect 
form of cooperation ; and since cooperation at its lower stages 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 121 

was directed exclusively toward material well-being, since also 
the higher stages are nothing but modifications of the lower, it 
follows that the end of conduct is everywhere the same. 
Accordingly, the sense of personal injury which follows a be- 
trayal of friendship is after all nothing but a vague sense of 
material loss. To this argument the appeal to moral conscious- 
ness is of course not a sufficient answer. It must be answered 
upon its own ground. There, however, it is to be noted, it will 
at least work in either direction. If the higher stage of devel- 
opment contains only what is in the lower, then the lower stage 
contains all that is in the higher; and there would appear to 
be no reason why either end of the scale might not furnish an 
indication of the principle underlying the scale as a whole. 
Now if sympathy constitutes a factor in the higher valuation, we 
may expect it to appear in some degree at every stage of moral 
development. And this expectation is to an extent verified. 
For we find that even in the lowest forms of animal life, where 
the end of conduct is most difficult to determine, there is hardly 
a stage in which the need of social sympathy does not appear. 
We are quick to assume that the impulses of animals and of 
the lower orders of men are purely sensuous. But the sensu- 
ous factor is always to some extent modified by a factor which 
is not sensuous. One of the most distinctly sensuous of all 
impulses is the food impulse. Yet even the lower animals 
prefer not to feed alone, while for men, even sensual men, the 
pleasures of the table are always incomplete without agreeable 
company. 1 

(b) In the hedonistic argument for chastity the burden of 
proof is laid upon the material advantages of family life as a 
method for the care of children. The solidarity of the family 
presupposes of course a certainty with regard to the relation 

1 As a matter of fact hedonists themselves have felt the need of lubricating 
the pleasure system with a certain measure of sympathy. In certain writers 
{e.g. Hume and Adam Smith) sympathy acquires the rank of a fundamental 
impulse and takes its place by the side of happiness. 



122 HEDONISM 

of parent and child ; and this presupposes the observance of 
determinate sexual relations. It is held, then, that the health 
and proper education of children is more effectively secured 
under the care of their parents, whose efforts are stimulated by 
parental affection, than under the care of others. Hence, 
it is necessary that parental relations be certain and clear, and, 
for this purpose, that determinate sexual relations be rigidly 
observed. But if the care of children is concerned only with 
their health, and if their education is simply to render them 
self-supporting, the advantages of family life are not immediately 
self-evident. Parental affection does not necessarily render the 
parent the most efficient guardian of the child's health, nor the 
most intelligent director of the child's education, assuming 
that the purpose of education is simply economic efficiency. 
On a strictly hedonistic basis it would seem that here, as in 
many other departments of life, the best results might be 
obtained through cooperation, that is, through a system of 
state care for children directed by competent physicians and 
teachers. Such a system has been proposed, and upon 
hedonistic grounds. The observance of fixed sexual relations 
would then be unnecessary. Why is it, then, that a proposal to 
this effect is generally so repulsive ? Because, it seems, a life 
without family relations, though perfectly self-sustaining, would 
be highly undesirable. Public education in a larger sense 
would no doubt save the parents as a class much of the expense 
and anxiety involved in separate maintenance, and it might 
easily be preferable for the development of economic efficiency ; 
but it would deprive the parents of nearly all that renders their 
life interesting ; and it would produce a race whose individuals, 
though admirably self-sustaining, would be lacking in all those 
social qualities which constitute the distinctively human side 
of life. It is within the family that these qualities are mainly 
developed. Of course, it may be claimed that these qualities 
and relations are themselves conditions of economic progress, 
that without the fact of home and family, men would lose one 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 123 

of their most important incentives to industry • but this objec- 
tion clearly admits that material well-being alone is not a suf- 
ficient incentive to effort. And this means, finally, that the 
purpose of our activity is not the preservation of life as such, 
but the development of a specifically human life, including 
among its other qualities the particular form of social quality 
due to family life. 

(V) The hedonistic argument for liberty rests usually upon 
the economic advantage of spontaneous activity. It is claimed 
that individuals are more energetic, hence more productive, 
when acting upon their own responsibility than when under 
external compulsion. For this reason even cooperation, to be 
effective, must be spontaneous. But here, as in the case of 
family life, the economic utility of the institution in question 
presupposes that the desire for it is itself fundamental and 
elementary. If, as the argument claims, men work more 
earnestly when acting freely than when acting under compul- 
sion, it would seem that liberty must be placed beside happi- 
ness as one of the elementary objects of desire, or at any rate 
that we must distinguish between happiness with liberty and 
happiness without it. If men desired material prosperity only, 
they would accept it without regard to the conditions under 
which it came, whether they were conditions of liberty or of 
bondage, provided only that it were sufficient in amount to 
be worth the effort. They would then work as gladly and 
as earnestly under compulsion as when acting upon their own 
responsibility ; they would choose the work which promised 
the highest returns for the effort expended without regard to 
its inherent interest, — in fact, if men were consistently hedo- 
nistic, the most interesting work would always be that which 
promised the greatest returns ; and they would live contentedly 
under the social system which promised the greatest material 
advantage, without regard to their allotment of political rights. 
The fact seems to be that men do not desire material welfare 
alone, but rather that each one has specific plans or purposes. 



124 HEDONISM 

such as the invention of a machine, the writing of a book, the 
painting of a picture, the establishment of a home, the attain- 
ment of political office or social position, which he feels he 
must realise. Though men seek material welfare, they seek it 
first along these lines, and often they will seek it no further 
than their specific purposes require. This is why the hedonist 
finds it advisable to make concessions in the form of liberty ; 
but the necessity of the concession clearly implies that men 
are not satisfied with material welfare alone. 

From such considerations it appears that the purpose of 
human life and the standard of moral valuation is not mere 
happiness, in the hedonistic sense of animal contentment, 
but the realisation of all the capacities implied in human 
nature, — and not mere preservation of life, but the develop- 
ment and perfection of the characteristics that constitute the 
human type. Hedonism claims that these characteristics have 
no other meaning than the increase of security and animal 
contentment ; but everywhere in the evolutionary scale we find 
the demand for mere existence modified by the special de- 
mands of the type. Each of the lower animals has its special 
type of instinctive activities, which it prefers to carry out rather 
than accept life on any other terms. When we come to man 
we find the conditions of type much more specific and exact- 
ing, and at every stage there appears a certain conflict between 
the considerations of mere existence and those of the realisation 
of type. For example, the difference between animal and human 
marriage lies in this, that for the animal any individual of the 
opposite sex is (relatively) eligible as a mate, while for each 
human being only those are eligible (ideally only that one is 
eligible) whose characteristics are such as to constitute between 
the two a relation of complete personal sympathy. Now there 
can be no doubt as to which attitude is ethically and culturally 
higher. Yet it is clear that these higher necessities have the 
effect of rendering life more difficult, of diminishing the prob- 
abilities of reproduction, and of increasing the possibilities of 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 125 

unhappiness ; from the standpoint of health and contentment 
alone it would generally pay a man who is contemplating mar- 
riage to think as little as possible of these more spiritual neces- 
sities, and to emphasise the advantages of health and wealth. 
The situation here is typical of the moral situation everywhere ; 
at every point the material considerations would lead us in 
one direction, the ideal considerations in another. It is true 
that ideal progress is impossible without a certain improvement 
in material conditions, but ideal progress is never attained 
through a consideration of material conditions alone. 

3. THE OUTLOOK FOR A FUTURE COMPLETE HAPPINESS 

A hedonist may accept the analysis of the moral situation 
which I have just given without admitting it to be a conclusive 
argument against his position. He may grant that there exists 
at present, and always has existed, a certain divergence, both 
in subjective valuation and objective fact, between the con- 
ditions of happiness and the demands of morality ; but he may 
claim that the divergence is constantly decreasing, and will at 
some time wholly disappear. The time will come, he will say, 
when moral conduct is completely repaid with happiness, when 
the conditions of existence are capable of affording a com- 
plete satisfaction for all human aspirations. In the meantime the 
method for bringing about this condition lies in a rigorous fulfil- 
ment of ideal demands in the present. Accordingly, though a 
rigid adherence to ideals may not be repaid by happiness in our 
own time, it will nevertheless hasten the time when all ideals 
shall be attained and the sum of human happiness finally 
complete. 

The argument advanced here is of such vital and extended 
significance for ethical theory that it will pay us to examine 
it carefully. It presupposes that the course of evolution is 
marked by a constantly decreasing divergence between desire 
and satisfaction, and a constantly increasing sum of happiness, 
and that it will finally come to a stop in a fixed and permanent 



126 HEDONISM 

condition, where happiness is relatively, if not absolutely, com- 
plete. " No one can doubt," says Mill, 1 " that most of the 
positive evils of the world are in themselves removable, and 
will, if human affairs continue to improve, be in the end re- 
duced within narrow limits. ... All the grand sources, in short, 
of human suffering are in a great degree, many of them almost 
entirely, conquerable by human care and effort; and though 
their removal is grievously slow, — though a long succession 
of generations will perish in the breach before the conquest 
is completed, and this world becomes all that, if will and 
knowledge were not wanting, it might easily be made, — yet 
every mind sufficiently intelligent and generous to bear a part, 
however small and inconspicuous, in the endeavour, will draw 
a noble enjoyment from the contest itself which he would not 
for any bribe in the form of selfish indulgence consent to be 
without." Spencer 2 expresses this view in more positive form 
when he says that evolution in conduct is, like all other evolu- 
tion, toward equilibrium — not, indeed, toward the equilibrium 
of rest, such as that reached at death, but toward a ' moving 
equilibrium.' Now by ■ moving equilibrium ' he means a 
condition of things in which several objects which are all in 
motion nevertheless preserve a constant relation to each other, 
such as the equilibrium which exists between the several mem- 
bers of the solar system. Applying the conception to human 
conduct, the terms to be related are organism and environ- 
ment ; a complete equilibrium would be a complete adjustment 
to environment. It would mean that all the possibilities of 
environmental variation had been investigated and carefully 
calculated, that the appropriate reactions for each variation 
had been exhaustively practised, until at last the proper reac- 
tion to a given situation had become a matter of fixed habit. 
Such an equilibrium already exists in the activities of the skilled 
musician, in whom the proper reaction to the variations in the 

1 Utilitarianism, ch. ij, p. 22 (Longmans, 1891), 

2 Data of Ethics, chs. v and xv, 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 127 

written notes has become fixed and automatic. Now accord- 
ing to Spencer, this is the final goal of the evolution of conduct 
as a whole. When the goal is reached we shall no longer act 
wrongly ; we shall not, even in cases where the consequences 
are important and far-reaching, have a moment's doubt or 
hesitation; but, with every impulse accurately and automati- 
cally adjusted to the external conditions, we shall have reached a 
permanent condition of maximum, if not complete and undis- 
turbed, happiness. 

When we search for the ground of this belief it becomes, as 
it seems to me, immediately clear that the expectation of an 
eventual equilibrium, or indeed of any permanent progress in 
the direction of an equilibrium, is completely without founda- 
tion. If evolution were tending toward equilibrium, we should 
expect to find an increase of contentment, a relative absence of 
worry, of unrest, of problematic situations, in modern times as 
compared with ancient, in the classes that stand higher in the 
cultural scale as compared with those that stand lower. The 
modern literature should be relatively joyous in tone, the 
ancient relatively gloomy; those who are favoured with 
wealth, with its increased opportunities for bodily comfort and 
for the exercise of intellectual and artistic capacities, should be 
noticeably happy, the poorer classes noticeably unhappy. 
Clearly this is not the case. We have no ground for saying 
that modern times are either happier or unhappier than the 
ancient, or that the rich are either happier or unhappier than 
the poor. The most that we could say is that those who lack 
the simplest necessities of life are predominantly unhappy; 
yet when we remember that in a poorly nourished body the 
capacity for feeling is probably lowered, even this statement 
does not appear to be quite accurate. It is true that the 
conditions of life have been in some sense vastly improved. 
There is no doubt that we of to-day, as compared with our 
ancestors of a few centuries ago, enjoy a comparative immunity 
from many diseases, wear better clothing, with more frequent 



128 HEDONISM 

changes, live in more comfortable houses, and eat a better 
quality of food. It is this that we usually have in mind when 
we say that happiness has increased. But with the increase of 
knowledge and productive capacity has come an increase of 
demands ; and the newer and more exacting demands gradually 
assume the same imperative character as the older and simpler 
ones, conditioning in the same manner not only our happiness 
but our health. As a result it cannot be said that we are 
happier or unhappier than our ancestors. Nor can we say that 
our children will be happier than we. For though they will 
no doubt add to the improvement in material conditions, they 
will just as certainly advance their standard of living. 1 

The supposed tendency toward equilibrium and happiness 
is the product of an illusion, which, though persistent, is never- 
theless easily recognised as an illusion. We tend constantly 
to believe that the possession of the object just out of our 
reach, from the lack of which we are just now suffering most 
keenly, is all that we need for perfect contentment. To the 
sick man health is everything ; give him only his health, and 
he will not ask for more. To the poor man a competence 
is everything ; relieve him of the constant anxiety about the 
means of livelihood, and he will be content. But with the at- 
tainment of the object immediately desired the scope of the 
demand is extended. The man restored to health is now rest- 
less for an interesting if not a productive occupation, the poor 
man who has reached a competency would now be a million- 
aire. Neither is more content than before or likely to be more 
content in the future than now. The expectation of content- 
ment failed to count upon the necessary extension of the scope 
of desire. It assumed that the possession of that from whose 
absence we were suffering would be a permanent source of 
happiness. But nothing seems to be capable of affording us 
permanent happiness. 

Apparently it is not the possession but the getting possession 

l See Taylor, The Problem of Conduct, pp. 231 ff. 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 129 

of an object which confers happiness, or, if possession, it is at 
any rate only when we are threatened with dispossession. It 
is the convalescent who enjoys his health, the man who is 
emerging from a struggle with poverty who enjoys riches, the 
man who has just had a narrow escape from death who feels 
the joy of living, the man who was likely to go hungry who 
rejoices over his dinner. The secure possession of an object 
renders the object itself a matter of indifference ; it no longer 
occupies our attention. The striving which is thus set free 
from the quest of this particular object now seeks other objects 
which had hitherto hardly entered our horizon. 

We do not, therefore, complete the equation of happiness 
and duty by transferring our standpoint to that of the future. 
Neither ourselves nor future generations will be permanently 
happier for moral effort on our own part. Such effort will no 
doubt result in an improvement in human life. Our control 
over external conditions will be constantly extended ; and 
human evolution will be a constant movement in the direction 
of an ideally perfect and complete existence. But though we 
may expect progress, in this sense, yet we cannot say that prog- 
ress will be accompanied by any increase of happiness. For 
whenever we reach a certain point of attainment the object to 
be attained will assume a more exacting form, and the ratio 
of desire to satisfaction will be much the same as it was before. 
We may then expect to find at any point in the evolutionary 
process just what we find now, — a certain lack of adjustment 
between organism and environment, a certain contradiction 
between ideal aspirations and material conditions, between the 
higher demands of morality and the conditions of contentment. 1 

4. THE POSITIVE VALUE OF HEDONISTIC THEORY 

Continuing our examination of hedonism, we must now 
endeavour to define more exactly its positive value. From 

1 See Ladd, The Philosophy of Conduct, pp. 473-474 ; Lecky, History of Euro- 
pean Morals, ch. i, pp. 86 ff. (3d ed.) ; Muirhead, The Elements of Ethics, p. 139. 
K 



130 HEDONISM 

this positive standpoint it will appear not only that hedonism 
has a certain value, but that it fulfils an important require- 
ment of ethical theory in a fairly satisfactory manner. 

We have seen that hedonism is a quantitative theory of con- 
duct, that it undertakes to express all the values of human life 
in mathematical terms. Now this quantitative aspect is a 
positively necessary aspect of any practical theory of conduct; 
it is the only form in which we can express an exact comparison 
of values. Let us suppose that a conflict arises between the 
demands of filial respect and those of advancement in one's 
profession. Common sense tells us here that we are to respect 
our parents and to make some sacrifices for their health and 
comfort ; but it also tells us that we are not to make an unrea- 
sonable sacrifice, — that, for example, a sacrifice of all of one's 
professional opportunities for the mere whim of a parent would 
be not only uncalled for but positively immoral. Where, then, 
are we to draw the line between a reasonable and an unreason- 
able sacrifice ? Failing to obtain an exact answer from common 
sense, we turn to scientific ethics. But an exact answer implies 
quantitative comparison. A quantitative estimate of the value 
of filial affection may appear at first sight to be highly absurd ; 
yet it is clearly necessary if we are to know exactly how far it 
is to be considered. Comparison is impossible until both 
objects are related to a common end. And when the end is 
defined, the preference can be expressed only in terms of con- 
duciveness toward the end, the preferable action being that 
which is more conducive. But 'more' or Mess' can mean 
only more or less in quantity. Not of course that action 
is always impossible until the quantitative relation has been 
determined exactly ; for after the end is defined the problem 
is often so simple that the superior value of one of the 
alternatives is clear at a glance, though the amount of supe- 
riority be still unknown. But if the problem is complex, even 
the general direction of the solution may remain uncertain 
until the amount of superiority is exactly specified. And in 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 131 

any case we cannot hope to realise in our life as a whole a 
systematic and consistent expression of moral principle until 
the moral values are expressed in figures. 

This quantitative method is a necessity not only of effective 
practice but at the same time of clear thinking. Grant that 
the relation of the higher to the lower aspects of human life is, 
as Mill believes, a relation of superior quality, still it is clear 
that superiority of quality, and indeed any relations of quality, 
must, if conceived clearly, be expressed finally in terms of 
quantity. 1 Red, green, blue, and yellow, for example, remain 
wholly unrelated, and wholly incapable of description, until they 
are related in some quantitative formula. When we discover 
that all the colours are quantitative variations of some element- 
ary colours, or that each holds a particular position upon a 
numerical scale of variations, it becomes possible to state 
exactly what each colour is — but not until then. The quantita- 
tive method is thus nothing less than the method of science as 
such, and is therefore implied in any true science of human life. 
The higher quality of life, to be in any sense ' higher,' must 
represent a further advance along some quantitative scale ; and 
the advance must be measured, just as the hedonistic method 
requires, by a specific number of units. The units need not, 
a priori, be units of pleasure, in the hedonistic sense. The 
higher qualities may mark simply a closer approximation to the 
distinctively human type. Nevertheless, ' degree of approxima- 
tion' must indicate ultimately a greater or less distance from a 
given point ; and the activity which shows a higher degree of 
approximation must in some sense contain more of that con- 
tained in the lower degree. 

Now there is a certain range of our activity within which the 
values of actions are capable of relatively exact calculation. 
This is true to the extent that the actions stand relatively lower 
on the moral scale. As we go lower, we have to do with con- 
ditions which are more imperatively necessary to the continu- 

1 Bradley, Ethical Studies, pp. 106-107. 



132 HEDONISM 

ance of life, which must be fulfilled if life of any kind is to be 
rendered possible, and which are therefore the objects of more 
general attention and effort. For this reason they are more 
completely organised, — that is, the conditions of their produc- 
tion are more effectively controlled ; and this means that their 
nature and value are more clearly and more universally under- 
stood. The value of a bushel of wheat, a dwelling, or a suit of 
clothing is, generally speaking, more clearly, more widely, and 
more permanently defined than the value of a work of art or 
science, or of legal or medical services. The former are also 
more nearly under our control. We undertake to grow a field of 
wheat, to bake a loaf of bread, to make a suit of clothing, 
with a comparative assurance of success ; while the success of 
a scientific investigation, or of an attempt to produce a certain 
effect in art, or of a course of medical treatment, is always to a 
high degree uncertain. In proportion, then, as objects approach 
the character of necessities they become relatively controllable 
and at the same time relatively calculable. 

Within this region hedonism offers an approximately satis- 
factory basis of calculation. The pleasure value of objects is 
here approximately identical with their market value. And, 
indeed, in popular thought, if not also to some extent in 
economic theory, pleasure values and market values rest ulti- 
mately upon the same basis. In searching for an objective 
measure of pleasure we tend to fix upon the pleasure of food. 
So also in searching for an objective measure of wealth — some- 
thing which shall go behind the conventional currency-measure 
and give us the real value of the dollar itself — we tend to fix 
upon some staple article of food, such as wheat. Now to the 
extent that objects fall within the region of the vital necessities, 
there can be no doubt that their market value is a fair expres- 
sion of their real value. The market value of a bushel of 
wheat may no doubt be artificially raised and lowered, but 
generally speaking it is a much more faithful indication of the 
value of its object in terms of the life process generally than the 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 133 

price paid for a painting or even for a surgical operation. And 
so it comes about that in the lower and middle ranges of 
moral action, where the moral problem is very distinctly a 
problem of earning a living and of providing the necessities of 
life, the market values of our actions — in other words, their 
value in terms of material well-being and happiness — furnish 
a fair indication of their intrinsic moral value. It is quite clear 
that industry, thrift, and common honesty are economic neces- 
sities, and that they have also a relatively definite market value. 
It is equally clear that, as compared with laziness, shiftlessness, 
and trickiness, they have a superior moral value. We may say 
then that up to a certain point in moral development, and 
within the region where the moral problem has to do mainly 
with the maintenance of the common economic virtues, the 
hedonistic standard of wealth, or happiness, furnishes a fair 
basis for the estimation of moral worth. 1 

When, however, we pass from the middle to the higher 
grade of morality and culture, we find ourselves in a region 
where not only is an accurate estimation of values out of the 
question, but where also the hedonistic standard is clearly in- 
applicable. Here we have to do with a quality of life which, as 
compared with the lower quality, exhibits a more delicate and 
complex adjustment of activities toward more specialised ends ; 
and the finer adjustment is, of course, impossible until the more 
fundamental conditions of existence have been satisfied. It is 
therefore not so directly an object of thought and effort for 
men in general. For this reason life on the higher level 
remains relatively unorganised, the nature and value of the 
objects of moral endeavour are not so clearly worked out, and 
the means of their realisation are not so effectively controlled. 

1 "We have arrived, then, at a sort of estimate of what a philosophy like 
Bentham's can do. It can teach the means of organising and regulating the 
merely business part of the social arrangements. He has committed the mis- 
take of supposing that the business part of human affairs was the whole of 
them ; all, at least, that the legislator and the moralist had to do with." Mill's 
essay on Bentham, Dissertations and Discussions (American ed.), Vol. I, p. 391. 



134 HEDONISM 

It thus comes about that the measure of inaccuracy in- 
volved in the use of the hedonistic method and standard at 
the lower stages is now greatly increased. At this level it 
is clear that the meaning of life is not merely greater security 
of existence, animal contentment, or accumulation of wealth. 
If the higher quality of life is to be reduced to quantitative terms, 
we must discover some more comprehensive standard and unit. 
This is the point upon which our criticism of hedonism must 
finally rest, — not upon its choice of the quantitative method, 
but upon the insufficiency of its unit and standard for all the 
purposes of calculation. 1 When the hedonist claims that the 
satisfactions demanded in the higher and more specialised 
activities are simply greater satisfactions of the impulse which 
stimulates vital activity from the beginning, he is upon the 
solid basis of scientific necessity; but when he attempts to 
limit the life impulse to nutrition, or to reproduction, or to a 
combination of the two, he is guilty of an assumption. It may 
be a justifiable assumption for immediate purposes ; the defini- 
tion may be the best that can be made in the present state of 
psychological analysis. But his unit is none the less inade- 
quate, and not only for purposes of calculation in the higher 
stages but even as a complete description of the impulses at 
work in the lower. Not all the activities of the lowest forms 
can be attributed to nutrition and reproduction. Some of 
these forms are continuously in motion, and a large proportion 
of their movements would appear to have no motive whatever. 
Nevertheless, a definition of the impulse determining their 
movements must explain the apparently aimless activities as 
well as those clearly directed toward nutrition and reproduc- 
tion ; it must be sufficiently comprehensive to account for all 
the activities of the animal. It is probable, therefore, that a 
final definition of the primitive impulse would be very much 
more abstract than that which refers specifically to nutrition 
and reproduction. Now if such a definition of the primitive 

1 See Taylor, The Problem of Conduct, pp. 66, 67. 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 135 

life impulse were at hand, we should no doubt have a solid 
basis for a mathematical computation of the peculiarities of all 
the higher forms ; in any case we should have a reasonably 
satisfactory basis for empirical estimation. In the meantime, 
the definition offered by hedonism is merely a rough approxi- 
mation. The estimates based upon it are, therefore, only 
partly satisfactory in the lower stages of the scale and highly 
unsatisfactory in the higher. 

When all is said, however, it remains a fact that hedonism 
fulfils in a fairly satisfactory manner a most important require- 
ment of practical morality. Granting that it places an undue 
emphasis upon the material side of life, it is still true that for 
most men this side is the more immediately imperative and 
important. For most men the ever present problem is the 
problem of a living ; the ever present temptation is to drown 
the care for the future in some form of present self-indulgence 
and extravagance ; and moral activity means a constant effort 
to maintain an ordinary standard of decent living, self-respect, 
and economic responsibility. And even where the circumstances 
are such as to relieve one of anxiety for a living, one of the 
most important moral problems is still that of health. In fact, 
the more conscientious the man, the more strongly he may be 
tempted to ignore the conditions of health in his absorption in 
other ends. 

In emphasising this aspect of moral values, hedonism clearly 
takes the side of a genuine and practical morality as opposed 
to a morality that is merely sentimental. 1 Granting that men 

1 Hedonism, says Bradley {Ethical Studies, p. 113), is an attempt to realise 
something objective. 

" The Utilitarian is naturally the man who is beyond all things anxious to 
have his feet on solid earth, and to assign definite and tangible grounds for every 
conclusion. He is a realist as opposed to an idealist, prosaic rather than poeti- 
cal, or belongs to the school which has more affinity for the materialist than for 
the idealist conclusions. . . . And utilitarian codes of morality are spun from 
coarser if more enduring materials than those of antagonistic systems." 

— Stephen, The Science of Ethics, p. 375. 

See also Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles, pp. 145 ff. 



136 HEDONISM 

may overestimate the value of material welfare and may forget the 
higher demands of life in the desire for animal contentment, it 
is still true that the higher ends must be realised through 
the material conditions. A morality which is satisfied with 
the purity of its ideals, but refuses to study the conditions 
through which the ideals are to be realised, is a mere pretence. 
Indeed, it is not too much to say that purely sentimental 
delights of this kind often approach in character the lowest 
forms of animal indulgence. Genuine conscientiousness con- 
sists not only in the choice of high ideals but in a care- 
ful study of the conditions under which results are to be 
obtained. 

It is the observance of these conditions which hedonism 
emphasises. The hedonist is impressed with the state of com- 
parative destitution in which most men pass their lives ; it is 
clear that this material degradation is also a moral degradation. 
He observes also that, in the midst of crying material needs, 
the thoughts of men are wandering toward remote ideal ends 
and neglecting the possibilities of a more immediate and sub- 
stantial good. Hence, he argues, the primary if not the sole 
end of a really practical morality is to promote material welfare. 
It may be that he has emphasised the material side unduly ; but 
it is a fact that to a large extent his teaching has been success- 
ful in effecting a real improvement. It is certain that the 
distinctly practical tendency in modern morality, which is illus- 
trated in improved sanitary conditions, in a sense of social 
responsibility with regard to the dwellings of the poor and in 
the prohibition of child labor in factories, has been largely 
stimulated by hedonistic teachings. Granting, then, that the 
theory of hedonism is not a final and complete statement of 
morals, it is nevertheless largely successful in meeting the de- 
mands of a practical statement for immediate use. 

For critical discussions of hedonism, see Bradley, Ethical Studies, 
Essay III; Dewey, The Study of Ethics, A Syllabus, §§ xxiv ff.; Green, Pro- 
legomena to Ethics, Book III, chs. i, iv, Book IV, ch. iii; Grote, Examina- 



HEDONISM AND COMMON SENSE 137 

Hon of the Utilitarian Philosophy ; Lecky, History of European Morals, 
ch. i, pp. 42-54 (3d ed.) ; Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory, Part II, 
Book II, Branch I ; Muirhead, Elements of Ethics, Book III, ch. i ; 
Murray, Introduction to Ethics, Book II, Part I, ch. i ; Paulsen, A Sys- 
tem of Ethics, Book II, ch. ii; Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles, 
pp. 115 ff.; Stephen, The Science of Ethics, ch. ix; Taylor, The Problem 
of Conduct, ch. vii; Watson, Hedonistic Theories ; Alexander, Moral 
Order and Progress, Book II, ch. v, ii. 



CHAPTER VIII 
HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 

1. SELF-INTEREST AND DUTY 

In this chapter we continue our examination of the hedonistic 
theory of conduct, regarding it now as a theory of social duties. 
The chief question to be considered here is that of the relation 
of self-interest and duty. How far is my duty to my neighbour, 
as understood by common sense, identical with the demands of 
self-interest as defined by hedonism? Or, in other words, how 
far is the social service required by duty profitable from a pri- 
vate and material standpoint ? In estimating the requirements 
of common sense, we shall be obliged, as before, to content 
ourselves with a general outline of its point of view. We saw 
that, for common sense, the passage from lower to higher values 
is away from the relatively material wants toward those that are 
relatively spiritual. Looking, then, at the social aspect of the 
scale, we find a similar progress from a relatively selfish to a 
relatively social attitude. In the lower stages of moral effort 
the attitude of the agent toward others is narrowly selfish ; he 
treats others according to the extent to which they can do him 
benefit or injury. In the middle stages this attitude is modified 
by certain considerations of justice and gratitude ; it is now 
recognised that one who treats me fairly ought to receive fair 
treatment in return. But the higher morality goes farther, and 
obliges me not merely to return service for service but to en- 
deavour, through a cultivation of broader sympathies, to make 
the interests of all men as far as possible my own. How far, 

138 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 139 

then, may the higher attitudes be regarded merely as quantita- 
tive extensions of the interests represented in the lower ? 

The nature of our reply has been suggested in the last chap- 
ter. There we saw that the hedonistic theory is relatively valid 
to the extent that we have to deal with the objective necessities 
of life. These necessities are provided for in the more distinctly 
commercial and industrial activities. In these our action is 
more thoroughly controlled and organised, and the values of 
the goods and services exchanged are more definitely formu- 
lated and more universally agreed upon. In some sense all 
the relations between men may be conceived as relations of 
exchange. We never give anything without in some sense 
expecting to receive something for it; even the unfortunate 
who passes over his purse at the command of a highwayman 
"gives his money for his life." The distinctive feature of the 
commercial relations is that here the goods and services ex- 
changed have a relatively objective market value, as contrasted 
with such goods as affection and good will. 

Now it is to the extent that our relations between men are 
organised upon a commercial basis that self-interest and duty 
are coincident. In this statement the phrase ' to the extent ' 
is to be carefully noted, for otherwise it may seem to make the 
assertion that in the business world there is everywhere an abso- 
lute identity between the requirements of honesty and justice 
and those of private advantage. It is evident that transactions 
differ in the extent to which they rest upon a commercial basis. 
Nowhere, perhaps, is the organisation of the basis of exchange 
final and absolute. Probably the most definite and objective 
expression of value is that of a bushel of wheat as quoted on 
'change ; yet even this may rest to an extent upon an artifi- 
cial basis, due to popular ignorance regarding the condition of 
crops, etc. But the value of a bushel of wheat or of a yard of 
cloth is a relatively objective fact when compared with that 
of a diamond, or of the style and fit of a suit of clothing, or of 
a franchise for a street railway. In the case of the diamond 



Ho HEDONISM 

and the clothing, value depends largely upon aesthetic consider- 
ations, which may be appreciated by those of cultivated taste, 
but not easily demonstrated to all. In the case of the railway 
franchise, it depends upon a very complex calculation of condi- 
tions, which can be made only by experts, and even by them 
not with absolute accuracy. Accordingly, the fashionable tailor 
or diamond merchant may exercise a large measure of discre- 
tion with regard to his prices, and may impose with impunity 
upon many of his customers. And the promoter of a street 
railway may easily secure a franchise at a fraction of its true 
value ; and by skilfully watering his stock, and thus concealing 
his large profits under a nominally small dividend, he may 
afterward escape detection and effect other transactions of the 
same sort. But it would be highly unwise for a postmaster to 
overcharge in the sale of a stamp, or for a railway ticket agent 
to cheat a traveller in the sale of a ticket, or even for a grain 
merchant to impose upon a customer ignorant of the market 
prices. The chances of subsequent imprisonment, or of loss 
of position, or of loss of trade and reputation, as the case might 
be, would be too great for the value received. 

Taking these qualifications into consideration, we may say 
that for the great rank and file of commercial and industrial 
workers the hedonistic theory of social duties is approximately 
valid. In other words, it is approximately valid for the region 
extending from the lower to the middle ranges of the moral 
scale. Within these regions it pays to be honest, just, and 
industrious in the service of others. If we doubt this state- 
ment, it is because we overlook the conditions prevailing within 
the rank and file of workers, or compare their rewards with 
those secured by others. We compare the honest workman, 
or clerk, or salesman, with the rascal who, having found honest 
work too slow, has taken up politics, then public contracts, 
then the promotion of stock companies, and finally, after a 
career of dishonesty, has attained to his millions. But we must 
remember not only that these regions are not those where values 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 141 

are easily estimated but also that they are open to very few. 
Success in such affairs presupposes exceptional opportunities, 
and though the successful cases are conspicuous, yet the possi- 
bilities of success are so exceedingly rare that for the great 
rank and file of men it still remains true that honesty is the 
best policy. Or again, we compare the compensation of the 
clerk or workman with that of the merchant or higher official 
who receives his many thousands a year, and it seems to us that 
the respective incomes are not justly proportioned. Here, 
again, however, we are comparing relatively objective quantities 
with relatively indefinite. The value of the results attained in 
a day's work done by a mechanic or clerk is usually a some- 
what definite quantity ; but nobody can well estimate the value 
of the results attained in a day by the president of a railway. 
It is quite possible that, in many cases, these officers of indus- 
try receive more than they are worth to society. It is probable 
too that, upon a basis of ideal justice, which would consider 
the individual less as a machine for securing certain results than 
as a member of society ready to perform his share of social 
service, the general scale of compensation for the work of 
directing is too high and that for the subordinate work too low. 
And on any basis, either of justice or humanity, there are some 
branches of the latter which receive too little. But granting 
that for the rank and file of workers taken as a whole merit is 
not sufficiently rewarded, it is still true that for the individual 
honesty is the best policy. If you are a clerk in an office or a 
worker in a mill, your surest way to promotion and increase of 
wages is through honesty and industry. Your employer may 
sometimes be deceived by the false show of service set up by a 
fellow-worker, but in the long run he cannot fail to recognise 
true merit nor avoid the necessity of paying the highest market 
price for it. And though you still fail to secure a just reward, 
as estimated by the value of your services to society as a whole, 
the reward will at any rate be greater than that to be obtained 
by any other form of behaviour. 



142 HEDONISM 

As we leave these regions of relatively organised values, we 
find that the rule of " honesty the best policy " admits of more 
and more exception. In the more speculative commercial 
occupations — the promotion of mines, street railways, and 
incorporated industries — the dishonest man finds a relatively 
large opportunity for illegitimate gain. Few people know the 
value of these things ; in many cases the estimation of value 
depends upon conditions known only ' on the inside.' Conse- 
quently there are many opportunities to dispose of worthless 
stock, or, through the bribery of legislatures, to purchase 
valuable franchises at a fraction of their true value. Similar 
conditions prevail in the professions. It is very difficult 
to estimate the skill or knowledge of a physician, and there 
is moreover a strong tendency to make such estimates 
upon the basis of personal prejudices. Other things equal, 
it is the physician who satisfies these prejudices, who pre- 
tends to positive knowledge upon matters of doubt, who flatters 
the whims of his patients by exaggerating their ills, thus enhanc- 
ing the value of the cure, • — it is he who secures the larger prac- 
tice and the greater income. On the other hand, a physician 
who takes a serious view of his profession often feels it his 
duty to spend his time upon cases where no financial return 
can be expected. The same is true of the academic profession. 
Few persons outside of those familiar with the subject in ques- 
tion can rightly estimate the value of scholarship or scientific 
investigation. Consequently, the public at large is very fre- 
quently deceived by false pretensions. And here again men 
tend to attach the greater importance to the sort of work which 
appeals to their prejudices, while, on the other hand, a true 
scholar or investigator would feel it his duty to society to over- 
turn these prejudices in favour of more enlightened views. 
When we come to the profession of politics we find that the 
necessity of a certain measure of dishonesty is accepted as 
axiomatic. For a man of enlightened views and a high sense 
of honour and public duty, success in politics seems to be, 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 143 

here in the United States at least, almost impossible. And if we 
leave the professional and turn to the more personal duties, — 
such as those of providing for one's family, of helping a neigh- 
bour'in distress, or of protesting against public abuses, — we find 
a still wider breach between duty and personal advantage. The 
clerk or workman has a certain guarantee of payment for faith- 
ful service to his employer, but he has no guarantee that his 
children will care for him in old age, or that the neighbour 
whom he has helped will serve him in return, or that the 
public will pay him for his service in removing abuses. In the 
very nature of the case it must often happen that such ser- 
vices cannot be repaid. Accordingly, we may say that outside 
of the services organised upon a commercial basis there is no 
certainty of a reward for the honest performance of duty. This 
does not mean that greater profit would be found in an ex- 
treme form of dishonesty. You are not to assume that the 
public will be infinitely credulous ; and impositions which suc- 
ceed for a while may prove unsuccessful in the long run. 
Nevertheless, if you are working for profit or reputation, you 
must take the ignorance of the laity — or, as the case may be, 
the trustfulness of your family and friends — into careful con- 
sideration and use it many times not only to your own advan- 
tage but to the disadvantage of those with whom you are 
dealing. 

The relation between self-interest and duty is, therefore, the 
same that was traced in the last chapter, between happiness and 
duty : the coincidence of the two is greater in the more ele- 
mentary regions of moral effort. And, as was there pointed out, 
this covers the more important moral problems of the larger 
number of men. For most men the great moral problem is 
that of earning a living, and of maintaining a common standard 
of decency and self-respect. But in no case is duty wholly 
limited to this field. The poorest labourer may be expected 
to do more for his family than merely support them, nor does 
the arduousness of his work excuse him altogether from certain 



144 HEDONISM 

duties as a citizen and neighbour. Consequently, there is no 
one for whom the coincidence of self-interest and duty is quite 
complete. When we arrive at conditions of superior education 
and opportunities, where the difficulty of mere living is less, the 
extent of one's duty to society becomes larger. The moral 
problem is now less to earn a living than to play one's part 
worthily and efficiently as a member of human society. But in 
these regions of moral effort there is no guarantee that duty 
will be properly repaid in the form of material goods. The 
breach between duty and self-interest has now become wider, 
and the hedonistic theory of social morality has no longer even 
an approximate validity. 

2. THE PLEASURES OF CONSCIENCE 

Some reference should be made here to the time-honoured 
argument of popular hedonism, to the effect that, in cases where 
a man fails to receive a just return of any other kind for the 
performance of duty, he is nevertheless sufficiently rewarded 
by the happiness conferred by a good conscience. The whole 
argument turns upon a clear conception of the 'pleasures of 
conscience.' When we make it clear to ourselves what we 
mean, and what as consistent hedonists we must mean, by 
these pleasures, it becomes immediately evident that they will 
often be insufficient to pay for the sacrifice at which they must 
be purchased. We may grant that the satisfactions of con- 
science may be preferable to any alternative form of satisfac- 
tion, but this is not equivalent to a preference for the pleasures 
of conscience. To a consistent hedonist the pleasure of con- 
science can be nothing but the sensuous feeling which a satis- 
fied conscience offers. It appears in the general elevation of 
organic processes which comes about when a man's mind is at 
ease ; and the amount of pleasure which a satisfied conscience 
confers is shown by its effect, in the long run, upon a man's 
health. Accordingly, when a hedonist says that a man is 
always rewarded for his virtue by the happiness of a satisfied 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 145 

conscience, what he means is that the consciousness of virtue 
is more conducive to health than any amount of the advantages 
to be derived from wrong-doing, or that the consciousness of 
wrong would be so detrimental to health as to overbalance any 
of its advantages. 

Now there can be no doubt that such pleasures are real; 
that consciousness of duty done, or of wrong committed, has 
a certain effect upon health, and thus upon happiness, no 
one will deny ; but that these effects are as great as the hedon- 
ist assumes is contradicted by all of our experience. With re- 
gard to some of the more horrid crimes, such as murder, we 
may grant that the argument holds, for it seems probable that, 
for most men, the recollection of such a crime would weigh so 
heavily upon the imagination as to constitute a serious menace 
to health and life. But suppose it to be one of the commoner 
crimes, — for example, the rather common crime of bribery, 
where huge sums are to be gained by a single stroke of dishon- 
esty. When we look about us, we may easily point to men of 
whom we may say, with practical certainty, that their wealth has 
come in this way. But it would be highly absurd to say that, on 
the score of health and ease of mind, they have not profited by 
their crime. On the contrary, they have not only the average 
of health and good spirits but, if anything, more than the 
average. Nor do they lack any other advantages. Their 
money purchases for them a place in aristocratic society ; they 
have all the cultural advantages to be obtained from travel and 
a varied experience ; and by extensive gifts to charitable and 
educational institutions, they are able, with their ill-gotten 
gains, to purchase the favour, and even the respect, of their 
fellows. That all these advantages are rendered hedonistically 
worthless by a secret consciousness of dishonour is in the last 
degree improbable. 



146 HEDONISM 

3. THE ADVANTAGES OF THE AVERAGE MAN 

So much for the general relation between self-interest and 
duty. Remembering now that life is not made up of purely 
industrial activities, and that" the services required of us are 
not always those which may be sold for a definite price, let us 
ask what a man's conduct would be were it regulated on the 
whole by conditions of self-interest alone. Generally speaking, 
what sort of conduct is that which brings the greatest rewards 
for one's services ? In the field of commerce it is that which 
represents the most accurate conformity to the state of the 
market. He whose gains are greatest is he who buys in the 
lowest market and sells in the highest, — in other words, he 
who knows best what his fellows want, and what they are will- 
ing to give. But many of our wants lie outside of the field of 
commerce. Only a part of them may be purchased in the 
market place, at a definite market price. The satisfactions of 
intellect and feeling, including those of friendship and personal 
sympathy, are not often brought to market. We have then to 
substitute for market price, in these cases, the nearest approach 
to it, namely, the value they have for the average taste of the 
community. Accordingly, the man who, as a rule, receives 
the greatest returns for his efforts, is the man who best 
appreciates this average of taste ; it is he who knows how to 
give others what they want and to appreciate what they are 
willing to give in return, — in other words, it is he whose 
point of view and whose ideals are pitched most nearly in 
harmony with those of the average of his fellows. If our per- 
sonal standard be higher than the conventional social standard, 
we shall suffer from lack of appreciation ; our services will not 
be adequately rewarded because there is no market for them. 
If, on the other hand, it fall below the conventional standard, 
we shall fail to give the services which society demands. It is 
unfortunate, from the standpoint of self-interest, to be either a 
criminal or a reformer. The fortunate man is he who exactly 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 147 

strikes an average. Like the man of average physical propor- 
sions, the man of the ethical and spiritual average finds most 
things made to fit him. He will no doubt lose some of the 
finer opportunities. The best things in art and literature, and 
the most interesting persons in social life, may only bore him ; 
but his loss here is heavily overbalanced by the multitude of 
objects which satisfy his taste. For him the theatres offer the 
greatest number of interesting plays, the booksellers the great- 
est number of interesting books, society the greatest number of 
interesting people, commerce the greatest number of interest- 
ing and profitable occupations. Whatever efforts he makes 
receive immediate recognition in the form both of the expres- 
sion of sympathy and of the offer of opportunity for material 
advancement; and in addition he enjoys the most complete 
approval of his own conscience. It pays, then, from the 
standpoint of happiness, to be an average man, with a sense of 
duty and a standard of conduct conveniently pitched in har- 
mony with the prevalent tone of society. 

It is clear, however, that we cannot justify any deliberate 
cultivation of the average. So far as a man has the good for- 
tune, in the matter of ideals and point of view, to rise no higher, 
he is of course not a subject for moral condemnation. But, on 
the other hand, he is not likely to be the man who reflects upon 
moral problems. As soon as we begin to reflect we find our- 
selves unavoidably in a certain attitude of criticism toward the 
conventional standards. It need not be an attitude of con- 
tempt ; and we need not ignore the fact that the conventional 
standards create certain social conditions which must be 
considered if we would live usefully and in harmony with 
our fellows. Nevertheless, we shall be committed to some 
measure of resistance; we shall be struggling to establish 
higher standards, and thus, to an extent, lessening our enjoy- 
ment of the conditions already established. We may say, then, 
that for one who accepts current standards without criticism, 
duty and happiness are approximately coincident ; but for one 



148 HEDONISM 

with an active sense of moral responsibility, such coincidence 
is nearly always impossible. 

4. THE OUTLOOK FOR A SOCIAL EQUILIBRIUM 

A hedonist, while admitting a certain divergence between 
self-interest and duty under present conditions, may neverthe- 
less hold that this divergence applies only to an incomplete so- 
cial organisation and will disappear when the social organisation 
is complete. Here we have the social implications of the hedo- 
nistic equilibrium. We have seen that self-interest and duty 
are identical to the extent that activities are organised and their 
value defined. Hedonism holds, then, that as time goes on the 
extent of organisation is constantly increasing, and society is 
therefore moving toward a point at which the organisation will 
be finally complete. The time will come when all the condi- 
tions of happiness have been so thoroughly investigated that 
the true value of every object has become fixed and self-evident. 
We shall then be able, without reflection or special calculation, 
to assign a definite market value not only to a bushel of wheat 
or a yard of cloth but to all the objects and services that make 
up our human life, — to the services of art and science, to the 
satisfactions of conscience, and even to friendship and filial and 
parental affection. In the presence of such complete agree- 
ment and enlightenment with regard to values there will be no 
opportunity, and indeed no temptation, for the illegitimate 
gratification of individual interests. For where the value of 
everything is fixed, an attempt to overcharge, or to give less 
than one's duty calls for, will be immediately detected and 
punished, while, on the other hand, the faithful performance of 
duty will always secure its due recognition. This will be as 
true of the exchange of personal affection and of the services 
of art and science as of the more industrial services. In the 
final equilibrium all individual claims will be perfectly and 
righteously adjusted, and the social problem will be forever 
laid at rest. 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 149 

The expectation of an equilibrium assumes that there is a 
fixed limit to human evolution, — that there is a point ahead 
of us beyond which no new desires will develop, no new condi- 
tions be found. Since there is a final limit to development, 
and since all men are gradually approaching it, though slowly 
and at different rates of progress, it follows that the time will 
come when all will have reached it. And since the divergence 
between self-interest and duty is due, as we have seen, to the 
different stages reached by different men in the development of 
their appreciation of values, it follows again that, when all men 
have reached the limit, and when the average of appreciation 
has become a universal appreciation of ideals and conditions at 
their final and true value, the divergence of self-interest and 
duty will no longer exist. But, as was pointed out in the last 
chapter, there is no ground whatever, either in history or com- 
mon experience, for assuming that evolution will be limited. 
It is true that the organisation of social conditions is being 
constantly extended. The wants that appear are being con- 
stantly satisfied. And satisfaction means that the wants in 
question, together with the conditions through which they must 
be satisfied, are being gradually investigated and evaluated, until 
at last their value is completely known, and with regard to these 
particular wants and activities there is a complete harmony be- 
tween self-interest and social welfare. But in the meantime 
other wants have arisen whose value has not yet been esti- 
mated, and whose means of satisfaction have not yet been 
organised. For example, while we are occupied in fixing the 
value of a railway franchise, newer and cheaper methods of 
transportation are being discovered and new demands for 
transportation are being made. Or, while engaged in the refor- 
mation of certain public abuses, new conditions have devel- 
oped and new reforms are needed. We have then a fresh 
problem of valuation and adjustment, and in the stage pre- 
ceding final adjustment there are new opportunities for unscru- 
pulous men to turn the situation to their private advantage. 



150 HEDONISM 

This has been the history of social organisation from the be- 
ginning. It is true that the organisation has become ever more 
articulate and comprehensive; but it has never been possible 
to provide in advance for the further development of human 
wants and the newer conditions involved in their satisfaction. 
As a result there has never been, and probably there never will be, 
a social system which will finally secure the just rights of men 
against the encroachments of their unscrupulous fellows. No 
better illustration is to be found than the present social condi- 
tion of our own country. A century ago it seemed that, with 
monarchy and feudalism finally overthrown, we had reached a 
form of organisation which would render injustice and oppres- 
sion forever impossible ; to-day we see this form of organisation 
made the basis of a system of extortion and of political privi- 
lege which is only less oppressive and dangerous to social welfare 
than the conditions it was intended to remove. No doubt the 
present social problem will find its solution in a more effective 
and comprehensive form of organisation, but it is equally clear 
that the next form of organisation, though an advance in the 
evolution of society, will have further problems to deal with 
and require again a reorganisation. 

5. THE POSITIVE VALUE OF THE HEDONISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 

We have seen that the hedonist finds the ultimate ground of 
moral obligation in the requirements of self-interest ; and that, 
according to him, nothing can be regarded as obligatory except 
that which is of advantage to the agent upon whom the obliga- 
tion is laid. It is often claimed that this position is in itself 
contradictory to the demands of morality, since, as it is said, the 
essential feature of morality is self-sacrifice. But a moment's 
consideration will show that, for self-sacrifice in any absolute 
sense, no ground of obligation is conceivable. Unless I am in 
some way interested in the object whose attainment is set be- 
fore me as a duty, it seems to be psychologically impossible 
that I should ever strive for it. And to speak of obligation in 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 151 

connection with such an object appears to be ethically absurd; 
for the fundamental condition of obligation is the presence in 
the agent of a sense of value, or at any rate of the latent possi- 
bility of a sense of value. It is this possibility which distin- 
guishes the human being from the machine, and to some degree 
from the lower animal, and which constitutes the ground upon 
which he is made responsible for his actions. But the presence 
of a sense of value with regard to an object means that the 
object is in some sense an expression of the nature and a satis- 
faction of the interests of the agent by whom it is valued. The 
interests in question may not be of the exclusively material kind 
represented in the ' self-interest ' of hedonism, but they must 
be in some sense the interests of the individual agent. If we 
were to discover an individual with no interest whatever in what 
society finds to be good, we could not conceive ourselves to 
impose this good upon him as a duty. 1 We might endeavour 
to coerce him, just as we force a machine or a lower animal to 
conform to our wishes, but we could not conceive him to rest 
under any moral obligation. Accordingly, the problem of 
ethics is not to discover a ground for absolute self-sacrifice — for 
this is in nature of the case impossible — but rather to discover 
the ground in the nature of the individual upon which we may 
justify a regard for social welfare, i.e. upon which a regard for 
duty may be rendered reasonable to him. Ethics assumes that 
the ground exists, that ultimately there is a fundamental unity 
of nature and of interests among the several individuals com- 
posing society. All ethical theories are attempts to justify this 
assumption and to analyse its meaning. Hedonism takes its 
start from the standpoint of the individual, beginning with a 

1 " We can be obliged to nothing but what we ourselves are to gain or lose 
something by ; for nothing else can be a ' violent motive ' to us.* As we should 
not be obliged to obey the laws, or the magistrate, unless rewards or punishments, 
pleasure or pain, somehow or other, depended upon our obedience ; so neither 
should we, without the same reason, be obliged to do what is right, to practise 
virtue, or to obey the commandments of God." 

— PALEY, Moral Philosophy, Book II, ch. ii. 



152 HEDONISM 

definition of self-interest and endeavouring to calculate the 
social welfare upon this basis. We may then criticise the defini- 
tion and the results deduced from it, but we cannot deny that 
in proceeding in this manner the hedonist has grasped one of 
the essential features of the problem. 

To this theoretical necessity of a definition of duty in terms 
of self-interest we may add a certain practical necessity. 
Granting that duty carries me beyond the consideration of 
bodily necessities and sensuous pleasures, it is clear that it 
does not involve an indiscriminate devotion to any social 
object that lies in my way. For the social welfare demands a 
certain distinction and specialisation of individual function. 
In order that all may work well together, it is necessary 
that the duty of each shall be so defined that he may avoid 
interference with others and at the same time second their 
efforts in the most efficient manner ; and it is then necessary 
that each shall keep within the line of action assigned to him. 
This practical requirement is one which the hedonist endeavours 
to meet. When we ask him for the particular department in 
which we are to find our individual duty, he refers us to our 
individual interests. If it be a question of the occupation we 
are to choose, the hedonist tells us to choose that which we 
find most profitable ; this, he claims, will also be the occupation 
through which we shall contribute the most to the welfare of 
the community. And here again, though the method offered 
be imperfect, the end aimed at is unquestionably valid. 

But we have not only to assign to each his appropriate kind 
of activity, but also to determine for him the region, within 
the social body, where the products of his labour may be most 
profitably distributed. In the constant emphasis upon the 
unity of society and the social aspect of morality, which has 
characterised most of our recent ethics, popular and scientific 
alike, it seems to have been largely forgotten that society, how- 
ever truly a unity, can only be a unity in diversity. Granting 
that society is not an aggregate of independent individuals, 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 153 

it still cannot be a homogeneous mass without internal 
distinctions. Or, more concretely, granting that it is an 
organism like the human body, still we cannot have an 
organism without distinction of members, or without dis- 
tinction in the relations which the members bear to each 
other. As an individual member in the organism, I am 
differently related to different individuals and more closely to 
some than to others. As a husband, a father, a son, an 
employer, or a servant, or even as a friend, I stand nearer in 
the social organism to my wife, my children, my parents, to my 
servant or employer, as the case may be, and to my friends, 
than to those who stand outside of these relations ; and these 
persons, whether as individuals or as members of the social 
organism, have a certain priority of claim upon my attention. 
It is the business of a theory of social duties to cover this 
variety of relations and to furnish a basis for the adjustment of 
individual claims, — it is not enough to tell us that morality is 
social. And this is the duty which hedonism in particular 
endeavours to fulfil, and which, we may say, it fulfils more 
adequately than the opposite type of theory. When I ask a 
hedonist to whom the prior obligations are due, his answer is, 
"To those from whom you have received, or are likely to 
receive, the greater benefits. To your parents because they 
cared for you in infancy ; to your children because they will 
care for you in old age when others have no interest in you ; to 
your employer because he pays you ; to your servant because 
he gives you a return for your money; and to your friend 
because he will help you in adversity." And granting that the 
conception of self-interest upon which these preferences rest is 
not altogether adequate, and that we cannot accept all the 
limitations of individual obligation which the conception 
implies, still we have to admit that both in intention and con- 
crete results it is a step toward the solution of the problem. 

All of these requirements the hedonist endeavours to fulfil 
by a system of calculation, in which, as we noted in the last 



154 HEDONISM 

chapter, he again aims at a result which must be accomplished 
if we are to have a clear and systematic view of conduct, — if, 
in other words, we are to be able to render an exact and adequate 
performance of duty. If I am to respond to the demand for 
social welfare, I must know exactly what social welfare is, 
and to know this exactly is to be able to state it in mathematical 
terms of quantity. If, again, I am to render just those services 
which, from the social standpoint, it is profitable for me to 
give, then I must have my duty stated in terms of amount 
and direction of social effort. The amount and direction of the 
services due from me will depend upon the nature and extent of 
my capacities and interests as compared with those of others. It 
will thus be necessary to state the social welfare in terms of 
individual interests, or ' self-interest,' and individual interests in 
terms of each other, and, therefore, to find a common measure 
of self-interest. It thus appears that an ultimately clear and 
exact conception of individual duty will have to fulfil all the 
requirements of the mathematical scheme which hedonism 
endeavours to work out. 

The difficulty with the hedonistic calculation may be ex- 
pressed by saying that the result does not fully cover what 
common sense understands by individual duty. And the 
source of the difficulty may be placed in the conception 
of the individual, or the social unit, upon which the cal- 
culation is based. Not only is the hedonistic unit insuf- 
ficient for a calculation of duty, but it does not fully express 
all that we conceive the individual as such to be. In 
bounding him by the limits of his body, and his self-interest 
by the limits of his bodily interest, we are no doubt selecting 
the only boundary line which we can conveniently use. But 
upon consideration it is clear that this boundary line is a 
merely convenient one, for neither psychologically nor physio- 
logically does the individual human being end with his own 
body. Take, for example, the relation of mother and child. 
Before birth they are clearly one organism, and for some time 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 155 

after birth they stand in intimate organic relations, so that 
each is necessary to the health and well-being of the other. 
But some of this mutual dependence continues, normally, 
throughout the lifetime of the mother, — so that it is impossible 
to state the exact point at which the mother and child become 
distinct individuals with distinct interests. What we find here 
is true to a degree of all relations between individuals. Wher- 
ever individuals are related there is a certain amount of mutual 
dependence, which has to do with the necessities of life as well 
as with the need of sympathy and companionship, and it is 
difficult to state just what constitutes the boundaries of the 
independent individual, or where we are to place the limits of 
his individual interests. The hedonistic definition of the 
individual and his interests is obviously imperfect, and for this 
reason it cannot serve all the purposes of a calculation of 
social relations. 

But, while imperfect, it furnishes nevertheless a useful 
method for the settlement of important practical problems. 
Of the social theory we may repeat what was said of hedonism 
in general, that while unsatisfactory it is nevertheless practically 
useful. Granting that a more satisfactory theory may eventu- 
ally be constructed, in the meantime we find ourselves called 
upon to act; and it is better that we should act somewhat 
inefficiently than not at all. For such purposes hedonism 
furnishes a clear and not wholly incorrect statement of our 
individual duty. " In case of doubt," says the hedonist, " fol- 
low the lines of self-interest." Now there are cases where 
self-interest clearly conflicts with duty, — where, for example, a 
man finds it his duty to sacrifice the interests of his employer 
in favour of others whose claims are greater, and where, in con- 
sequence, he suffers the loss of his occupation and income. 
But in most cases it is clearly best that he should recognise a 
certain superiority of obligation toward the person by whom 
he is paid ; for if men could not be depended upon to rec- 
ognise obligations of this kind, it would be impossible to deal 



156 HEDONISM 

with them in business or to cooperate with them for the attain- 
ment of any practical end. A man whose sense of duty toward 
society were so broad as to be absolutely undiscriminating would 
be unreliable, not only as a partner or employee, but as a hus- 
band, father, or friend ; and a morality which entirely ignored 
the special claims of individual interests would in the end have 
little to show in the form of genuine results. So, again, in the 
interests of duty, the choice of an occupation should often be 
made along lines which are unprofitable. Yet it is true that, 
in most cases, the occupation which a man finds most profitable 
is that also in which he is most useful. He who ignores the 
question of profit may, indeed, because he has a larger and 
more adequate conception of what is good for men than what 
they recognise and are willing to pay for, render society a 
greater service. But it often happens that an occupation is un- 
remunerative simply because there is no real need for it. There 
can be no doubt that, while the necessity of earning a living 
leads men frequently to the performance of immoral acts, it 
also has the effect of turning their attention away from schemes 
that are sentimental and impracticable and of fastening it upon 
objects and activities whose value is genuine and real. 

It must be remembered, finally, that to a large extent hedon- 
ism furnishes the theoretical basis upon which commerce is 
carried on, laws made, government administered, and claims 
settled in courts of equity. It constitutes as such the basis for 
the machinery of our communal life. Among persons of 
idealistic tendency there is a disposition to overlook the value 
of social machinery. " The machinery," it is often said, 
" accomplishes nothing. It is a mere expression of the social 
will. You cannot make men just and honest by passing laws 
to that effect; for, except as the law is supported by the 
moral sentiment of the community, it will be impossible to 
carry it out ; and where the moral sentiment is adequate the law 
is unnecessary." Hence, it is argued, the only effective method 
of social reform is education. But the argument looks only 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 157 

at one side of the problem. We may readily concede that no 
social machinery will be effective which is not supported by 
the social sentiment. But let the social sentiment be all that 
could be desired, we could still not dispense with the machin- 
ery. Let it be granted that the motives of all men were abso- 
lutely just and honest, it would still be necessary to have the 
particulars of just and honest dealing objectively and clearly 
defined. Grant too that every man were completely socially- 
minded and eager to do his part in the work of society 
generally, still it would be necessary to have some system 
according to which the duty of each could be clearly and 
accurately designated. In the absence of such a system men 
of the best intentions would be falling over each other in their 
endeavour to do their duty, and the final result would be waste 
and confusion. Now hedonism offers such a system, and its 
system is largely embodied in the present political organisa- 
tion. No doubt the system is inadequate and the machinery 
defective, and it will be our constant duty to work for a reorgan- 
isation upon a more comprehensive plan. But in the mean- 
time it is to be remembered that the present organisation fulfils 
those fundamental conditions upon which social life — and, 
indeed, human life — is at all possible ; and these conditions 
must also be met in any successful attempt at reorganisation. 

On the relation between happiness and self-interest, see Sidgwick, 
Methods of Ethics, Book II, ch. v; Stephen, The Science of Ethics, ch. x; 
Paulsen, A System of Ethics, Book II, ch. vii; Martineau, Types of Ethical 
Theory, Part II, Book II, Branch I, ch. i, subdivision ii, § 1. 



PART II 

IDEALISM 



CHAPTER IX 

INTUITIONISM: THE ETHICS OF CONSCIENCE 

We may conveniently begin our study of idealism with a 
brief examination of the several forms of intuitionism. It 
seems best, in the analysis of idealistic theory, to distinguish 
three stages of development : intuitionism, which expresses the 
popular conception of obedience to conscience ; rationalism, 
which reduces the particular dictates of conscience to a general 
adherence to principle ; and self-realisation, which translates 
the demands of principle into those of a life purpose. The 
standpoint from which all these theories proceed is that of 
the inner appreciation of moral values as opposed to that of 
the external observation of human actions, the latter being the 
standpoint of hedonism. This internal appreciation of values 
appears as ' conscience ' in the more naive stages of moral 
consciousness ; as ' reason ' in the more reflective stages. 

1. DEFINITION OF INTUITIONISM 

' Intuitionism ' is derived from the Latin intueor, to look 
upon. It means that the Tightness or wrongness of conduct 
is known by immediate appreciation and independently of 
any consideration of ulterior consequences. As such it is 
commonly contrasted with utilitarianism, according to which 
right conduct is determined by a calculation of its utility. 
Prinia facie, there would seem to be no connection between 
the use of calculation as a method and the nature of the end 
toward which calculation is directed. It would seem that 
M 161 



162 IDEALISM 

conduct might either be calculated, or estimated intuitively, 
as the case might be, whether the end of conduct were con- 
ceived as happiness or as the realisation of self. Historically, 
however, the utilitarian method has been used mainly by hedo- 
nists, while, on the other hand, the sympathies of intuitional 
moralists, so far as they have had any regard for general princi- 
ples of conduct, have been clearly on the side of perfectionism, 
or self-realisation. We have already noted the logical connec- 
tion between happiness as an end and the method of calcula- 
tion; in chapter xvii we shall see that there is a similar 
connection between the idealistic conception of values and the 
failure to attempt calculation. 

Sidgwick distinguishes three forms of intuitionism : percep- 
tional intuitionism, according to which it is always the Tightness 
of some particular action that is held to be immediately known ; 
dogmatic intuitionism, in which the general rules of common 
sense are accepted as axiomatic ; and philosophical intuition- 
ism, which attempts to find some deeper explanation for these 
current rules. The first two will occupy us in the present chap- 
ter ; the last, under the head of rationalism, will be reserved 
for the next. Following the first, we shall consider a similar 
form of theory, known commonly as the theory of moral sense, 
but which, regarding it as a form of intuitional theory, I prefer 
to call ' aesthetic intuitionism ' ; and dogmatic intuitionism will 
be followed by a consideration of the form of intuitionism repre- 
sented in a scale of motives. 

2. PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM 

Perceptional intuitionism expresses the more naive concep- 
tion of ' conscience.' "We commonly think of the dictates of 
conscience as relating to particular actions ; and when a man 
is bidden in a particular case to ' trust to his conscience,' it 
commonly seems to be meant that he should exercise a faculty 
of judging morally this particular case without reference to gen- 
eral rules, and even in opposition to conclusions obtained by 



INTUITIONISM 163 

systematic deduction from such rules." x This immediate per- 
ception of Tightness is frequently interpreted as a revelation of 
divine will — either as a special revelation for each case, or, 
more commonly, as the declaration of a faculty of moral judg- 
ment which was implanted in human nature at its creation, and 
which, since it was created by God, is assumed to offer an in- 
fallible statement of the divine will. It is this implication 
which chiefly explains the peculiar respect paid to the un- 
reasoned utterances of conscience ■ for if conscience is a true 
revelation of the divine will, reasoning will be not only useless 
but dangerous. 

Now there are no doubt many cases in which the intuitions 
of conscience are a safer guide than the process of reasoning. 
Intuition is, in fact, a method used in much of our practical 
life. It represents habits of thought and action which have 
become established because, perhaps without consciousness 
on our part, they have been successful in solving moral prob- 
lems. The grounds of their adoption may have been worked 
out and forgotten, or, if the habits themselves have worked 
smoothly and without conflict, it has never been necessary to 
work them out. In either case, they are not immediately 
forthcoming. Now when a tendency of this kind is called into 
question, it may be that it is not applicable to the existing situ- 
ation; but surely it is not to be cast aside merely because 
explicit grounds for it are not momentarily visible. If I have 
a moral aversion to the use of wine, the fact that, at the mo- 
ment of receiving an invitation to take wine with a friend, I am 
unable to find a reasonable ground for my aversion, is surely 
not a sufficient justification for ignoring it. Nor am I justified 
in ignoring my scruples against doubtful forms of business 
transaction merely because at the moment of temptation I 
can find no logical justification for them. But, in this respect, 
the moral situation is not different from that which arises in 
other aspects of life. In any department of life intuition may 

1 Methods of Ethics, p. 99 (4th ed.). 



164 IDEALISM 

often constitute a better guide than reasoning. An instinctive 
distrust of a neighbour may be more reliable than the apparently 
trustworthy evidence in his favour ; an undefined suspicion of a 
certain speculative commercial project may be a better guide 
than all the calculations which point in its favour ; and an intu- 
itive diagnosis of a disease may be correct, though unsupported 
and even contradicted by the definite symptoms. Our practical 
judgments are, in fact, based always to some extent upon mere 
intuition. But this does not lead us to accept the intuitions as 
infallible, nor deter us from attempting to reorganise them into 
something more consistent and systematic. And there would 
seem to be no ground for a different attitude in matters of moral 
conduct. Here, as elsewhere, intuition is in many cases safer 
than reasoning, especially in those cases where an immediate 
decision is imperative ; but the only hope of a consistent and 
satisfactory statement lies in the control of intuition through a 
conscious and deliberate process of reasoning. 

This process is forced upon us by the apparent contradictions 
among our own intuitions at different times, and by the contra- 
dictions between our own intuitions and those of others. Where 
two consciences conflict, the rule of the perceptional intuition- 
ist requires each to trust to his own, and where my own con- 
science contradicts itself at successive moments, the rule requires 
me to trust at each time to the utterance of the moment. But 
this is clearly not our conception of moral conduct. For moral 
conduct must be first of all consistent ; the primary demand of 
virtue is a reliable and responsible mode of behaviour. To this 
the perceptional intuitionist would no doubt agree. Either, 
however, he assumes that conscience is always self-consistent, 
in which case he is in flat contradiction with experience and 
common sense, — since the mere fact that conscientious men are 
endeavouring to formulate the utterances of conscience into a 
general principle proves that conscience is not clear and con- 
sistent, — or he assumes that, in a case of conflict, one of the 
conflicting utterances will be found to be the representative of 



INTUITIONISM 165 

passion and prejudice rather than of conscience. But in the 
latter case the necessities of practical life call for some means 
of distinguishing at the time between the expressions of con- 
science and those of prejudice ; and such means are to be found 
only in a general principle of conduct. 

3. AESTHETIC INTUITIONISM 

^Esthetic intuitionism, as the moral- sense theory will be 
called, differs in form from perceptional intuitionism only in 
conceiving of our sense of right after the analogy of the sense 
of beauty. Considering the general attitude which the theory 
represents, I am not sure how far it ought to be classed among 
intuitional views ; for the tone of the moral-sense philosophers, 
of Shaftesbury and Adam Smith in particular, is at times more 
suggestive of hedonism than of idealism. But in form it is 
hardly distinguishable from perceptional intuitionism, and what- 
ever attention is to be given it may conveniently be given here. 

The aesthetic theory conceives of the world as regulated by a 
principle of harmony. Good consists, then, in a harmony or 
balance of impulses. The good man is he in whom each im- 
pulse receives its proportionate and fitting amount of satisfac- 
tion, in whom no impulse satisfies itself at the expense of 
another, but all work together smoothly. But the individual 
man is a member of the larger system represented by society. 
As such his nature demands for its complete satisfaction a larger 
harmony throughout society as a whole, — just as each impulse 
is satisfied only by a harmony within his individual nature. 
Self-interest and social welfare are, accordingly, identical ; the 
individual nature is fundamentally social, and if the social im- 
pulses are not satisfied, the harmony within his own nature is 
incomplete. Now according to the aesthetic theory, the rela- 
tions necessary to a state of harmony are not to be determined 
by calculation and reasoning; like those which constitute 
beauty, they can be known only through the appreciations of a 



1 66 IDEALISM 

special sense. The sense of moral fitness is thus analogous to 
the sense of beauty — if not, indeed, the same. 

Our estimation of the moral-sense theory will simply repeat 
with a change of terms the criticism already applied to percep- 
tional intuitionism. There can be no question that a sense of 
fitness is often a better guide than the results of reasoning. 
Indeed, we may say that conduct in its finer aspects is the ex- 
pression chiefly of an sesthetic sense of ideal fitness. The per- 
fect expression of the moral ideal is beyond the reach of 
reasoned calculation; it requires a delicacy of discrimination 
in the matter of honour and justice and the interests of others 
which no system of morals has been able to provide for. And 
moral conduct is well described, in the language of the moral- 
sense theory, as a ' fine art.' For conduct represents the effort 
to live up to our ideal of a man or of a gentleman, as we may 
choose to express it, and our conception of true manliness or 
of true gentlemanliness is a matter of appreciation rather than 
of clear cognition. Probably this will ever be the case, for the 
considerations involved in conduct are too complex, the condi- 
tions and circumstances too varied, to be reduced to a table 
and worked out by rule of thumb. We may expect, then, that 
the perfection of conduct will depend always upon a cultivated 
sense of duty rather than upon a process of reasoning. But 
the view of conduct as an art offers no ground for a refusal to 
regulate conduct by principle. Art itself is a constant search 
for principle. The problem of the artist is that of consistent 
and harmonious expression ; and this means the expression of 
an underlying principle of harmony. For the artist, the content 
to be expressed is, of course, too complex and its distinctions 
too subtle for clear, analytic statement ; herein lies the dis- 
tinction between the artist and the scientist ; 1 but unless his 
expression be guided by some reference to. underlying principle, 
it will prove only meaningless and absurd. In like manner, we 

1 I have endeavoured to formulate this distinction in a paper on " Art, Indus- 
try, and Science," in the Psychological Review, March, 1901. 



INTUITIONISM 167 

may say, the finer aspects of moral conduct will probably be 
ever too subtle for complete analytic expression; but in its 
broader outlines we may reasonably attempt such expression, 
and without the formulation of a principle we cannot hope to 
maintain a consistent course of behaviour. 

4. DOGMATIC INTUITIONISM 

Dogmatic intuitionism holds that our intuitions relate not 
to particular acts as such but to the common rules of conduct. 
These rules are best illustrated by those of veracity and of 
good faith ; according to dogmatic intuitionism it is my duty 
to tell the truth and to keep my promises under all circum- 
stances, without regard to consequences. A complete set of 
such rules, which intuitionists, however, have never been able to 
furnish, would constitute a ready-made guide to life, to be used 
much in the same manner as a table of logarithms, only without 
the possibility, as in the case of logarithms, of testing their cor- 
rectness by reference to a more general formula. 

Here, as before, it is to be observed that the intuitional 
method has a certain practical value. The common rules of 
morality are the outcome of long experience. They have been 
formulated and have acquired their peculiar authority as the 
result of the whole past activity of the race ; and the grounds 
upon which they rest may be no longer within reach of analysis. 
They may therefore be regarded as on the whole safe rules for 
the guidance of conduct, and hence not lightly to be cast 
aside — certainly not because, at the moment of choice, the 
ground of their authority is not clearly visible. 

But here again the attempt to convert the intuitional method 
into a universal rule of conduct results in self-contradiction and 
practical difficulty. The several rules are not absolutely con- 
sistent with each other. Even the two which I have specified 
as the best examples of absolute moral rules — those of veracity 
and good faith — may sometimes be found in conflict. It may 
be necessary to tell a lie in order to keep a promise. For ex- 



168 IDEALISM 

ample, a friend has told me, under promise of secrecy, of his 
engagement in marriage. I am then questioned with regard 
to it by a third person. If I plead ignorance, I utter a lie; 
if I deny it, I also lie ; if I choose the only remaining course 
and refuse to answer the question, or even evade it, I shall in 
most cases reveal the fact of the engagement, since this par- 
ticular kind of fact would usually be contradicted if it were not 
true. Similar difficulties arise in connection with the other 
rules of conduct. The rule of justice commands me to treat 
all men according to their deserts; the rule of benevolence 
commands me to give to others according to their needs. A 
case where the two conflict is to be found in the parable of the 
labourers in the vineyard, where those engaged at the eleventh 
hour received the same hire as those who had worked from the 
first. Here benevolence was preferred to justice ; for, surely, 
if the last-called deserved a penny, the others deserved propor- 
tionately more. The parable may be regarded as a simple 
illustration of the modern ' social problem ' ; for here too 
we have a conflict between the rule of justice, which demands 
that goods should be distributed according to the amount 
which each has produced, and the rule of benevolence, which, 
in its most general interpretation, means that all the forces of 
society should be directed toward the common good. 

It is sometimes claimed that these difficulties are due merely 
to an inexact definition, and that, when the rules are carefully 
defined, they will be seen to be mutually harmonious. Thus, 
it is said that the rule of promises assumes that a promise is 
made with the understanding that its fulfilment will not involve 
any infringement of the other moral rules ; if this should turn 
out not to be the case, the promise is not valid. 1 Or it is said 
that we are not required by the rule of veracity to tell the 
truth to one who will make an evil use of it. Or again, that 
in rewarding men according to their deserts, we must con- 

1 For an elaborate analysis of the conditions of a valid promise, see 
Whewell, Elements of Morality, Bk. II, ch. xv. 



INTUITIONISM 169 

sider, among their deserts, the use they are likely to make of 
their advantages. But these attempts at interpretation, so far 
from showing that the moral rules are individually independent 
and self-sufficient, only serve to reveal their relative character. 
In each case the rule is limited by a general conception of a 
good or well-being which is not contained in the mere obedi- 
ence to the rule itself, and which exhibits the rule as a means 
to a more general end. In order, then, to obtain a consistent 
expression of moral conduct, we must go behind the rules and 
search for a more general principle. 

5. MARTINEAU'S TABLE OF SPRINGS OF ACTION 

A more philosophical expression of intuitional theory is 
found in the interpretation of moral intuition as a graduated 
system of preferences. Several systems of this kind might be 
mentioned, but we shall confine our attention to the system 
of motives, or ' springs of action,' elaborated by Martineau. 
This system represents the last and most complete develop- 
ment of intuitional ethics as such. The following table shows 
the springs of action in order of preference : * — 

Lowest 

1. Secondary Passions ; — Censoriousness, Vindictiveness, Suspicious- 

ness. 

2. Secondary Organic Propensions ; — Love of Ease and Sensual 

Pleasure. 

3. Primary Organic Propensions ; — Appetites. 

4. Primary Animal Propension ; — Spontaneous Activity (unselec- 

tive). 

5. Love of Gain (reflective derivative from Appetite). 

6. Secondary Affections (sentimental indulgence of sympathetic 

feelings). 

7. Primary Passions ; — Antipathy, Fear, Resentment. 

8. Causal Energy ; — Love of Power, or Ambition ; Love of Liberty. 

9. Secondary Sentiments ; — Love of Culture. 

10. Primary Sentiments of Wonder and Admiration. 

1 Types of Ethical Theory, Part II, Book I, ch. vi, § 13. 



170 IDEALISM 

11. Primary Affections, Parental and Social; — with (approximately) 

Generosity and Gratitude. 

12. Primary Affection of Compassion. 

13. Primary Sentiment of Reverence. 

Highest 

This table rests upon the view that conscience is a declaration 
not of the absolute worth of particular motives but of relations 
of worth among the several motives ; acts and motives are not 
good and bad in themselves but better and worse in relation to 
each other. Any motive on the scale, with the possible excep- 
tion of the lowest, may then be allowed a free range of opera- 
tion until it comes into conflict with another ; in deciding the 
conflict of motives, precedence is to be awarded to that higher 
in the scale. 

In estimating the value of the table, we may say that, while, 
in comparison with other forms of intuitional theory it makes a 
distinct advance toward a connected view of conduct, it yet 
fails to satisfy the needs of a scientific and practical theory. As 
an expression of better and worse rather than of good or bad, it 
affords, indeed, a means for the coordination of conflicting im- 
pulses and of the conflicting moral standards of different per- 
sons and different races; and so far it marks an advance 
toward a scientific theory. But the aim of scientific theory is 
to express values in terms capable of verification ; and for this 
purpose it is necessary that the valuation appear as the expres- 
sion of a general principle of value. To be intelligible to 
modern thought relative values should also be expressed in 
evolutionary terms ; for, to our modern sense, lower and 
higher are inseparably connected with earlier and later stages 
of moral development. But though the general point of view 
expressed in the table of motives lends itself readily to an evo- 
lutionary interpretation, such interpretation is evidently not 
intended ; for we are clearly told that the moral order cannot 
be conceived to be the result of biological evolution ; that the 



INTUITIONISM 171 

appearance of moral consciousness in the history of the world 
is the appearance of a wholly new and unique factor. Nor is 
any other principle of value offered. Suggestions of a principle 
appear, indeed, at several points in the course of the discus- 
sion. For example, the motive of reverence, by which I under- 
stand reverence for an ideal human nature, is described as the 
underlying principle of the scale as a whole rather than as an 
individual motive like the others. Here the theory tends 
to become identical with the more philosophical statements 
of Kant and Green. But no attempt is made to explain the 
working out of the principle among the motives in detail. And 
ultimately the order of tabulation is determined not by refer- 
ence to a principle but by an immediate, introspective exami- 
nation of the moral consciousness. 

For this reason the view presents the same difficulties as 
those found in the other forms of intuitional theory. There is 
little more agreement regarding the relative value of motives 
than regarding the absolute value of particular acts. No doubt 
the scale of motives expresses to a large extent the valuations 
accorded by common sense, — so far as common sense is 
united ; and even where common sense is divided, it may, 
through the mere statement of individual values, be the means 
of extending the range of unanimity. But where the conflict is 
more pronounced, the scale will tend generally to win the assent 
of those only who already favour the idealistic interpretation. To 
the hedonist, it represents largely an inversion of the true order 
of value. To him the substantial elements of human well-being 
— health, comfort, and material prosperity — are to be found 
in the satisfaction of the motives located in the lower part of 
the scale ; the cultivation of science and art (represented on 
Martineau's scale by the Love of Culture and the Primary 
Sentiments of Wonder and Admiration), and even of social 
feeling, are to him merely more refined means for the attain- 
ment of material well-being, and as means they are in no case 
to be preferred when they conflict with the end. Accordingly, 



172 IDEALISM 

the table of motives, in failing to offer a scientific principle, fails 
also to remove the practical difficulty. It leaves us with a 
statement of relative values, which no doubt adds some clear- 
ness to the declarations of conscience, but which fails still to 
satisfy the sense of value of a large number of conscientious 
persons ; and in failing to state the valuation in terms of a gen- 
eral principle, it offers no means for reaching an ultimate 
agreement. 

It is difficult to state an intuitional view without having it develop 
insensibly into a form of rationalism or self-realisation; hence it is hard 
to find any purely intuitional literature of a respectable sort. The most 
modern representative of the school is Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory. 
The best previous exponent is Butler, Three Sermons upon Human Nature. 
His theory of conscience leans toward perceptional intuitionism. The 
representative of the aesthetic theory is Shaftesbury, An Enquiry Con- 
cerning Virtue and Merit; for a statement of Shaftesbury's theory, see 
Martineau, Part II, Book II, Branch III, ch. i. See also Lecky, History 
of European Morals, ch. i, pp. 76-120 (3d ed.); Sidgwick, History of 
Ethics, pp. 170, 200, 213, 224; Porter, Elements of Moral Science, ch. viii. 

Closely related to the intuitionists are the English rationalists, Cud- 
worth, Clarke, and Whewell (see the note appended to ch. x). 

Discussions of intuitionism are to be found in Spencer, Data of Ethics, 
ch. iv; Paulsen, A System of Ethics, tr. Thilly, pp. 363 ff.; Mill, Utilita- 
rianism, ch. i; Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, Book III. 



CHAPTER X 

RATIONALISM : THE ETHICS OF PRINCIPLE 

Rationalism, the modern version of stoicism, is so prominently 
identified with Kant, and Kant's formulae are so widely current 
in popular thought (however vague our conception of his moral 
philosophy), that it seems best, in this chapter, to depart more 
than usual from our non-historical method of presentation and 
derive our notion of rationalism from an interpretation of Kant. 
It has just been noted that the several forms of intuitional 
theory all fail to reduce the dictates of conscience to the form 
of a general principle, and that, for this reason, they fail to 
offer either a practical or a scientific statement of conduct. 
Now it is this necessity for a moral principle — the theoretical 
necessity for a statement which shall be universally true, and 
the practical necessity for an attitude toward men and things 
which shall be absolutely uniform — which constitutes the 
burden and emphasis of Kant's moral philosophy, — to such 
an extent, indeed, that, as we shall see, all other demands are 
practically ignored. 

1. KANT'S ETHICAL THEORY 

There are several avenues by which Kant's position may be 
approached, but perhaps the most direct is that opened by the 
conception of duty. In Kant's mind the significant and all- 
important feature of morality is its aspect of imperativeness. 
The right is not simply the desirable, but that which has abso- 
lute authority to command. Right is the expression of law ; as 
such its demands are universal and invariable, making no conces- 

173 



174 IDEALISM 

sions to persons or circumstances ; and the essential feature of 
the moral life is unconditional obedience. Accordingly, it is this 
authoritative aspect of morality which sets the problem for his 
theory of conduct. Conceiving of morality as law, what pre- 
suppositions are necessary to justify its authority? What must 
be our view of man and of the world if we are to conceive of 
duty as real? All of Kant's moral philosophy may be regarded 
as an answer to this specific question. 

Now a universal and imperative moral law must be, in the first 
place, a law of reason, — that is to say, it must be an a priori de- 
duction from the conception of good rather than a mere generali- 
sation of the particular goods which men seek, or of the particular 
duties which they recognise. This means that the moral law must 
be deduced in the same manner as all other universal laws. For 
example, it is a universal mathematical law that the sum of the 
angles of a triangle must equal two right angles ; but its univer- 
sality presupposes that it is a deduction from the conception 
of a triangle and not a record of measurements ; for if it were 
only a generalisation of measurements, we could not be sure 
that we should not yet discover a triangle of which these rela- 
tions would not hold true. In like manner, if our moral law 
were merely a record of what men do or of what they approve, 
we should have no ground for believing that men's actions 
might not at any time show a complete change of direction, 
thus completely contradicting our present conception of mo- 
rality and nullifying its obligation. To be certain, then, that our 
moral law is of universal application and absolute in its obliga- 
tion, we must found it securely upon the conception of funda- 
mental good ; the goods that men actually seek may represent 
only passing inclinations. 

But nothing is fundamentally good but the good will. In 
other words, if the moral law is to be universal in its applica- 
tion and absolute in its obligation, if it is to be imperative for 
all times and seasons, it must represent the nature of the moral 
agent rather than his circumstances or environment; it must 



RATIONALISM 175 

be not simply a law of reason but a law of self. Conduct which 
is the reflection of circumstances cannot show the consistency 
demanded by law ; for circumstances are a matter of chance ; 
I cannot say in advance just what the situation will be. Grant- 
ing that the course of circumstances on the whole shows a cer- 
tain uniformity, still for any particular agent they are shifting 
and uncertain, and form an unreliable basis for a consistent 
course of conduct. Nor does the mere pressure of circum- 
stances impose any real obligation. Granting that certain 
objects affect me pleasantly and others painfully, still I am 
under no obligation to choose the former and reject the 
latter except as I judge it reasonable to do so ; and, according 
to Kant, it is conceivable that I may judge it reasonable to 
reject the pleasure and accept the pain. The obligation im- 
posed by circumstances is therefore purely relative. As Kant 
puts it, the imperative is merely hypothetical, not absolute and 
categorical ; it means merely that you must adopt the means if 
you would have the end, and contains the implication that the 
end may be rejected. Absolute obligation presupposes, however, 
an end whose rejection is inconceivable — in other words, an 
end which the agent could not reject without self-contradiction. 
And an end of this kind is determined only by the nature of 
the agent himself; that only is logically and absolutely obliga- 
tory which expresses the demands of my own nature. 

These two presuppositions of moral law receive joint expres- 
sion in Kant's view of human nature. If the moral law is at 
the same time the law of reason and the law of self, it follows 
that reason and self must be identical ; the principle of ration- 
ality must be the principle of human nature and, conversely, 
the principle of human nature must be the principle of reason. 
In its last analysis, the fact of duty presupposes that man is 
a rational being ; if he is not rational, then duty is an illusion. 
It would seem, then (one might be inclined to reply), that duty 
must be an illusion, for it is clear that the activities of men are 
by no means exclusively rational ; they are frequently the out- 



176 IDEALISM 

come of blind impulses. This objection would be met by a 
disciple of Kant with a distinction between the real man and his 
external circumstances, and between the acts that represent his 
independent choice and those which are the passive effects of 
his circumstances ; whenever a man's act expresses his own 
choice, the act is rational. The real man is the rational man. 
Now the antithesis of ' reason ' is ' feeling ' ; and feeling repre- 
sents the effect produced by external objects upon the human 
body. It is as completely distinct and separate from the real 
nature of the man as his house or his clothes. And not only 
is it distinct, but it positively interferes with the expression of 
himself as a rational being ; for it is the pressure of feeling 
which prevents a man from giving a subject a rational and im- 
partial consideration, and which hurries him into action before 
the reasonable course is clear. 

But the moral law requires still a further presupposition : it 
must be ultimately not only a law of human nature but a law 
of nature as such ; and not only a law of nature but the final 
and fundamental law of nature. It is only thus that the law of 
duty could be absolutely universal and imperative ; for if the 
law of human nature were subordinate to some higher law, its 
range of application would of course be limited, and there would 
be cases in which the lower law would be superseded by the 
higher. Absolute obligation presupposes that the human being 
represents in himself the principle of the universe. This, then, 
is the conclusion which Kant finally reaches : if duty is to be 
regarded as real, then not only must the principle of human 
nature be identical with the principle of rationality, but the 
human and rational principle must finally be the principle 
underlying the world as a whole. 

So much for the theoretical side of Kant's ethics. Before 
turning to the practical side something should perhaps be said 
with regard to his theory of society. If the law of duty is the 
law of self, the way seems open for a conflict of duties between 
individual selves ; and if the moral law prescribed conflicting 



RATIONALISM 177 

courses for different individuals, it could hardly be regarded as 
universal or absolutely obligatory. But the possibility of conflict 
is precluded by the presupposition that the law of self is the law 
of reason. Conflict is due solely to the presence of feeling. 
Since the course of feeling is governed by the play of circum- 
stance, and hence follows no law, there is no ground for expect- 
ing a unity of feeling in a plurality of individuals. We may 
expect rather that the interests of one will be frequently opposed 
to those of others. But between rational beings as such there 
can be no conflict ; for since the aims of all are strictly rational, 
they are necessarily identical, or at least mutually consistent. 
A community of rational beings is thus, on the one hand, a so- 
ciety of free persons — since the social ends represent also the 
spontaneous choice of each individual — and, on the other hand, 
a harmonious social system. This view of society is embodied 
in Kant's conception of a ' Kingdom of Ends.' 

2. KANT'S PRACTICAL MAXIM: THE CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE 

We have then to note Kant's formulation of the moral law 
into a practical rule of conduct. This is to be found in the 
famous ' categorical imperative,' which is formulated as follows : 
" Act only on that maxim whereby thou canst at the same time 
will that it should become a universal law." This rule, it will 
be seen, is the direct practical corollary of his theory of human 
nature. Assuming that the basis of human nature is reason, or 
law, we must, to realise our good and also to perform our duty, 
make our conduct the objective expression of universal law. 
And this is the meaning of the categorical imperative. It 
might be more briefly expressed as follows : " Let your conduct 
be always the expression of law." But we have to remember 
that the law of human nature is ultimately the law of nature as 
such. With this in mind Kant elsewhere states the rule as mean- 
ing that we are so to act that our conduct might become a law 
of nature. This means, in the language of common sense, that 
we are to show the inflexible consistency of 'men of principle ' as 



178 IDEALISM 

opposed to the vagaries of creatures of passion and impulse ; as 
men of principle our actions will show that rigid uniformity 
and consistency which is postulated of a law of nature. Kant 
offers the following illustrations of the manner in which his rule 
operates : Suppose that I am tempted to borrow money which 
I know I cannot repay. A reference to the rule of conduct 
shows the act to be wrong, for if every one borrowed money 
with no expectation of repaying, a promise to pay would soon 
have no value and men would refuse to lend ; and this is a situ- 
ation which I cannot will to exist. Again, suppose that, though 
prosperous myself, I am disinclined to help a friend who is in 
need. This, again, is an act which I cannot will to become a 
universal law, for, if all men adopted this attitude, human life 
would be impossible. Or, further, suppose that I am tempted 
by personal misfortunes to take my own life. This could clearly 
not become a universal law, for the race would then cease to 
exist, and as a human being I cannot accept this result with- 
out self-contradiction. 

Since moral conduct is determined by respect for law, it 
follows that conduct which arises from any other motive, 
though externally correct, is without moral value. If a man is 
honest from motives of advantage, or refrains from taking his 
life from motives of fear, or gives to the poor from motives of 
pity, his act is morally valueless ; for the dictates of feeling are 
wholly irrelevant to the question of duty. It is uncertain how 
far Kant considered such motives to be positively Amoral. 
He did, however, think it necessary to protest against the 
practice of teaching children their duty through an appeal to 
their inclinations. For in any case, he thought, the appeal to 
inclination and feeling is liable to obscure the true principle of 
duty and thus indirectly to foster the habit of judging conduct 
from other standpoints than that of duty as such. 

Since the law of conduct is also a law of self, the categorical 
imperative is capable of further expression in terms of respect 
for self, or — remembering that the essential principle of self is 



RATIONALISM 179 

identical with the generic principle of human nature — respect 
for men as such. It then reads, " So act as to treat humanity, 
whether in thine own person or in that of any other, in every case 
as an end withal and never as a means only." In a word, treat 
human beings always as ends, never as means. This rule is 
merely a restatement of the former rule. When I perform an 
act which I cannot will to be a law for all, I give the preference 
to my own advantage and make the interests of others sub- 
ordinate to my own. I then treat myself as an end to which 
the others are only means, i.e. I ' make use ' of other persons, 
treating them as if they were of no more significance than 
objects of wood and stone. But when I so order my action 
that it becomes the expression of universal law, I make the 
ends of others identical with my own and treat humanity as 
such as an end absolute in itself. This identification of inter- 
ests should not, however, be confounded with self-sacrifice. 
For self-sacrifice means that, while treating others as ends, I 
convert myself into a means, and the latter is as much an 
offence against human nature as the former. It is to be noted 
also that self-sacrifice as such would not represent a strict 
conformity to universal law ; for example, in remitting a just 
debt to a debtor who is able to pay, I cannot will that the act 
should become universal. The point to be remembered is 
that the human being whom I am commanded to respect as an 
end is the strictly rational being who demands nothing but what 
is impersonally reasonable. As rational beings the ends of 
all are identical ; therefore, each in treating the other as an end 
furthers his own purposes while any one who treats another as 
an irresponsible means must in some way defeat his own pur- 
poses and thus act in a manner that is self-contradictory and 
irrational. In view of the ultimate identity of the principle of 
reason and the principle of human nature it becomes the same 
thing to treat human beings as ends and to act in accordance with 
reason. 1 

1 See ch. xii, 4. 



180 IDEALISM 

3. THE INSUFFICIENCY OF THE CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE 

In the foregoing I have endeavoured to present Kant's view 
in substantially the same form in which it is presented by Kant 
himself. Something more needs to be said to render it intelli- 
gible from a common-sense standpoint. But before going fur- 
ther it will be well to note the essential difficulty of the theory 
as formulated by Kant, and its ground in Kant's psychology. 

When Kant tells us that we are to act so that our conduct 
may be the expression of universal law, he appears at first sight 
to have given us a rule which will fully meet all possible con- 
tingencies, and which, moreover, is nothing but a more exact 
expression of a rule which already gives satisfactory results 
wherever it is applied in daily life, — namely, the • Golden 
Rule' of the New Testament. And there can be no doubt 
that Kant's maxim, like that of " Do unto others, etc.," is an 
excellent rule of thumb for ordinary use. But we need not go 
far to meet with cases in which it no longer guides us. For 
example, suppose the temptation arise to take advantage of 
the ignorance or generosity of one's neighbour. In the case 
of most men the application of the rule would probably 
settle the question in the manner which we judge right, since 
most men would prefer fair dealing as a general condition of 
commerce. But it is conceivable that a man might be quite 
ready to accept the opposite condition, preferring to take his 
chances of being cheated by others to refraining from the prac- 
tice of dishonesty himself, and even thinking it right that a man 
should take the consequences of his ignorance or want of watch- 
fulness. (For that matter, is not the latter view clearly implied 
in the common claim that the successful speculator in stocks 
or real estate merely reaps the just reward of a superior sagac- 
ity?) Or, again, a man tempted to take his own life might be 
quite willing that any one else who found his life unprofitable 
should do the same, or he might even hold, as some men do, 
that life as such is an evil, and that the only motive which pre- 



RATIONALISM 181 

vents men in general from ending their lives is an irrational 
and superstitious fear. An application of the Kantian rule to 
these cases would clearly not lead to the performance of what 
we judge to be right conduct. A disciple of Kant might then 
claim, referring to the last illustration, that a man could not take 
his own life without self-contradiction and inconsistency. But 
between what terms does the contradiction lie ? There appears 
to be no inconsistency in a man's taking his own life if he be 
willing to accord the same privilege to others, and certainly 
there is none between the act of self-destruction and the judg- 
ment that life is an evil. It is true, however, that for men 
in general the action would involve a real self-contradiction. 
And this shows us where the inadequacy of Kant's rule is lo- 
cated. For the self-contradiction lies in the fact that most men, 
if not all, have a prevailing desire to live. They may be tempted 
in adversity to take their own lives, but after they have resisted 
the temptation they are usually glad to have done so. It is, 
consequently, the desire for life, with the implication that life in 
general is desirable, which makes it possible for them to decide 
a question of suicide according to the Kantian rule. In every 
case where the rule may be applied, it presupposes a conception 
of the desirable. Apart from such a conception, there is no 
reason why any practice should not become universal. Even 
war could so be willed if conflict were felt to be desirable. 
The categorical imperative is thus, in itself, not a sufficient 
guide to conduct ; the irrationality of any result rests not 
upon its a priori inconceivability but upon its practical unde- 
sirability ; and in order to decide what kind of conduct we can 
will to become universal, we must first know what kind of con- 
duct is desirable. 

The indeterminate character of Kant's rule is the result of 
his psychological theory, in which he offers a purely intellec- 
tualistic conception of ' reason.' Every mental quality which is 
not pure intellect, including all the aspects of impulse and de- 
sire, is classed by Kant under the head of mere feeling, which, 



182 IDEALISM 

as we have seen, he tends to identify with bodily feeling, and 
ultimately with a purely physiological process. This converts 
the operation of reason into an activity purely intellectual, and 
the rational being into a being of pure intellect without any 
admixture of desire. Upon this basis it becomes impossible to 
conceive of a rational choice. From the standpoint of intellect 
alone nothing can be regarded as either good or bad, valuable 
or valueless, rational or irrational. All our judgments upon the 
rationality of conduct are based upon the presence of desire, or 
at least upon a conception of the desirable. And for that mat- 
ter not only our valuation of conduct but all our interpretation 
of it ; for without the presence in ourselves of desire, or the 
capacity for desire, it would be quite impossible to know what 
other persons were doing. If I never had an appetite for food 
myself, another's act of eating would be wholly a mystery. To 
one with no taste for music an opera is an absurdity ; that men 
and women should appear on the stage and communicate with 
each other in song to an instrumental accompaniment is to him 
in the highest degree meaningless, while to the man with a love 
for music nothing could so truly express the realities of thought 
and feeling. So, again, to a man who has never played tennis 
nothing could be more puerile than the occupation of passing 
a rubber ball back and forth across a net. We say that this is 
because he fails to ' understand the game.' But an ' under- 
standing ' of the game is not to be obtained through reading 
the rules ; it means that one must have played, and felt for one's 
self the fascination of the problem involved in meeting the ball 
and returning it to the other side of the court. A creature 
without desire would accordingly view life as a whole from the 
standpoint of the man who looks on at a game without feeling 
its significance. He could not judge an act rational or, for that 
matter, irrational. He could neither will an act to become 
universal nor will it to be otherwise. To a rational being, in 
the purely intellectualistic sense, the whole problem of con- 
duct would be a matter of entire indifference. And here it is 



RATIONALISM 183 

to be noted that our more modern psychology does not separate 
(though it may distinguish) reason and desire. Nor are they 
separate in common sense. A rational person is not a person 
without feelings or desires, but one whose desires are controlled 
with reference to the more desirable objects. 

From the intellectualistic conception of self it is also impossi- 
ble to derive a sufficient guidance for conduct from the rule of 
treating human beings as ends and never as means only. No 
doubt the expression has a meaning for our common sense, 
and clearly we know what is meant by ' making use ' of a 
man ; but this is because we already have some conception of 
what men in general hold to be desirable, and of what they 
identify with themselves. According to Kant's conception, the 
sole principle of human nature is the demand for conformity to 
universal law ; theoretically, at least, it makes no difference to 
the rational being what we do to him provided only that we 
treat him impartially with relation to others and to ourselves. 
Following Kant's rule, it would make no difference whether we 
treated our neighbour kindly or harshly, provided only that 
we treated all alike, and were ready to take as good as we 
gave. In either case we should be treating him as an end in 
himself. 

4. THE POSITIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF KANT'S VIEW 

We are not to suppose, of course, that Kant anticipated or 
would have accepted this consequence of his teaching; and 
we may assume, therefore, that the purely intellectualistic con- 
ception of reason and of the rational being did not after all 
express his real meaning. This supposition is confirmed by a 
consideration of the cases by which he illustrates the applica- 
tion of his rule. His favourite illustration is the duty of self- 
preservation, for he seems to think that suicide is a perfectly 
obvious case of self-contradiction and irrationality. But what 
is the ground of the self-contradiction? Kant answers as fol- 
lows : " a system of nature in which the very feeling whose 



184 IDEALISM 

office is to compel men to the preservation of life should 
lead men by a universal law to death, cannot be conceived 
without contradiction." In other words, it is the feeling of 
self-love which both keeps men alive and at times tempts them 
to take their lives ; and a state of things in which a feeling 
whose real function (Kant assumes) is to preserve life may also 
lead to its destruction involves a self-contradiction. The 
irrationality of suicide rests, then, upon the presence and char- 
acter of the feeling, or impulse toward self-preservation, not 
upon the abstract inconceivability of self-destruction as a uni- 
versal law. Next to the duty of self-preservation, Kant em- 
phasises that of self-development. " There are, in humanity, 
capacities of greater perfection, which belong to the end that 
nature has in view in regard to humanity in ourselves as the 
subject ; to neglect these might perhaps be consistent with the 
maintenance of humanity as an end in itself, but not with 
the advancement of the end." From these expressions it would 
appear that the nature of the rational being includes the im- 
pulses toward life and growth, and that it is the presence 
of these impulses — not the quality of abstract rationality — 
which converts suicide, or the failure to develop one's capaci- 
ties, into a self-contradiction. In these illustrations the theory 
of Kant approaches that form of theory which we shall con- 
sider presently under the name of ' self-realisation.' 

What are we to understand, then, by Kant's conception of a 
rational being? To answer this question we must remember, 
in the first place, the distinction between ' rational ' and ' me- 
chanical ' implied in Kant's use of the former, and, in the sec- 
ond place, the popular though now somewhat obsolete usage 
of ' rational,' in which it refers not so much to intellect alone 
as to the characteristics which distinguish human beings from 
the lower animals. No doubt Kant tends to reduce the 
significance of the term to the limits of the intellectual, but 
this is because he feels under the necessity not only of distin- 
guishing human beings from mechanical bodies but also of 



RATIONALISM • 185 

drawing a sharp line between human nature and the nature of 
the lower animals. But the latter is a distinction which all 
our later thought has tended to efface. And I believe that 
when we make it an important factor in an interpretation of 
Kant, we miss the positive significance of his point of view. 
What he has in mind, it seems, is not so much the distinction 
between men and animals as the broader distinction between 
human beings and mechanical objects. Now what is the chief 
difference between these two orders of things? Clearly, we 
may say, the presence in the former of self-consciousness, — in 
other words, of consciousness as such. The human being knows 
what he is doing ; the forces directing his activity work con- 
sciously. In the mechanical body they work unconsciously, 
knowing neither the sources from which they came nor the 
ends which they are to accomplish. 

This is what Kant has in mind when he says that moral 
obligation presupposes a rational being as agent. It is the 
quality of self-consciousness which is the source of our moral 
responsibility. Not that mere awareness of one's movements 
would without any further implications constitute a sense of 
responsibility. The essential point in the argument lies rather 
in the assumption that consciousness of movement completely 
alters the character of the movement. While steam is up and 
the throttle open a locomotive will keep up its speed without 
regard to whether the track before it is broken or continuous, 
or whether a drawbridge is open or closed. The inevitable 
character of its movement is due to the fact that it is ' blind ' 
and unconscious. Ordinarily we say, to be sure, that the 
movement is determined by the amount and direction of the 
mechanical forces at work in producing it ; but in the term 
' mechanical ' we imply (though we do not often recognise 
the force of the implication) that the forces at work are 
not conscious ; it is the absence of consciousness which gives 
them their mechanical and inevitable character. If we imagine 
them to have become conscious of what they are doing, it 



1 86 IDEALISM 

becomes inconceivable that their activity should not be con- 
trolled with reference to desirable ends. It is inconceivable 
that the locomotive, become conscious of its situation, should 
not make some effort to slacken its speed and avoid the im- 
pending danger, however difficult it may also be to imagine 
how this effort could be made by an object so constructed. It 
is inconceivable that a force, become conscious of itself, should 
not attempt to control its direction ; a ' conscious machine ' 
could no longer remain a mere machine. Now it is just this 
capacity for self-control which constitutes the basis of moral 
obligation ; and, therefore, a being conscious of itself and of 
its situation would, through the fact of consciousness alone, 
become morally responsible. It is in this sense that moral 
obligation presupposes a ' rational ' being as agent. Moral 
obligation presupposes that the agent knows what he is about, 
and that, knowing what he is about, he is able to choose his 
ends and to direct his action toward the ends of his own choos- 
ing. If self-consciousness is an illusion, or if it is after all 
unrelated to self-control, moral obligation is out of the question. 
But, further, it is this conception of a rational being which is 
implied in Kant's view that the law of reason must also be a 
law of nature, and ultimately the final and fundamental law of 
nature. Here his argument rests upon the very common view 
that consciousness must somehow represent the inner reality of 
things as distinct from their external appearance ; that the real 
nature of the man must be his thought and feeling, of which his 
body and its actions are to some degree a cloak and a conceal- 
ment. But we cannot conceive of the world as made up of 
two irreducibly different orders of things, rational beings and 
mechanical objects ; ultimately it must be one homogeneous 
reality, acting according to one universal law ; and the law of 
human nature cannot be really different from the law of nature 
as such. Accordingly, if the ultimate and real principle of 
human nature is the rational and spiritual principle, this must also 
be the principle constituting the reality of the world as a whole. 



RATIONALISM 187 

How, then, are we to conceive of the actual distinction and 
relation between human beings and mechanical objects? Evi- 
dently thus : in humanity the world principle has become fully 
self-conscious. Not only is the rational being conscious of the 
forces at work in his nature, but the forces of nature have come 
to self-consciousness in him. It is in consciousness that the 
world reveals its true nature and meaning, — a meaning which 
is only imperfectly embodied in mechanical movements as 
such ; and it is through conscious action that this meaning is 
expressed in an overt, objective manner. Now the most per- 
fect revelation of the conscious principle (at least within our 
range of experience) is the human being; he may therefore 
justly regard himself as the highest expression of the principle 
of activity governing the universe as a whole. As such he is 
himself the source of all law and all value. 

To conclude, then, — when Kant tells us that the conception 
of duty presupposes that man is a rational being, what he means 
is not that he is a purely intellectual being, without any admix- 
ture of desire, but rather that he is a self-conscious being, and 
thus distinguished from mere mechanical objects. And if we 
go farther and affirm not only, with Kant, that duty presupposes 
self- consciousness but that both are also realities, 1 what we mean 
is that consciousness is a real quality in human nature, that it is 
really operative in determining the direction of human activity ; 
we then take our stand in opposition to hedonism and material- 
ism, which affirms that consciousness has no power to direct 
our activities, and that it is ultimately not a real quality but a 
mere appearance and illusion. 

Kant's theory is given in the Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic 
of Morals and Critical Examination of the Practical Reason, translated 
by Abbott in Kant's Theory of Ethics. 

1 It should be remembered that Kant never quite commits himself to this 
view. His problem is, If duty is genuinely authoritative, what view of man 
and of the world is presupposed ? He analyses these presuppositions, but does 
not commit himself either to their reality or to the genuineness of the authority 
which they support, 



1 88 IDEALISM 

For analysis and criticism, see Caird, The Critical Philosophy of Kant, 
Book II; Bradley, Ethical Studies, Essay iv; Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, 
Book III, ch. xiii; Mackenzie, Manual of Ethics (3d ed.), pp. 190 ff.; 
Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles, pp. 165 ff. ; Dewey, The Study of 
Ethics, A Syllabus, § xxxvi. 

Rationalism has also its representatives in English thought; before 
Kant, in Cudworth (1617-1688), Treatise concerning Eternal and Immu- 
table Morality, a work which very closely anticipates Kant's view, and 
Clarke, Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God (1731) ; after 
Kant, in Whewell, Elements of Morality. 



CHAPTER XI 

SELF-REALISATION : THE ETHICS OF PURPOSE 

At the beginning of our treatment of idealism it was sug- 
gested that the three forms of idealistic theory might be 
regarded as logically successive stages in the process of reduc- 
ing the utterances of conscience to a clear and consistent form 
of expression. We have seen how the various forms of intui- 
tionism lead to the search for an underlying principle; and 
in our criticism of Kant we have seen that a moral principle, 
to have content and meaning, must be the expression of human 
desire and tendency. We come now to the consideration of 
a form of idealistic theory in which these conditions are sup- 
posed to be fulfilled. In the theory of self-realisation we have 
both the logical consequent of the earlier forms of idealism and 
the form which is historically later, being the form of idealism 
which is predominant to-day. 

1. THE PROBLEM OF SELF 

An analysis of self-realisation should begin with a definition 
of 'self; for it is from a particular view of self-activity {i.e. 
the activity of self-conscious persons as distinct from that of 
mechanical bodies) that its meaning is derived. There are two 
questions to be answered in the definition of self : first, What 
makes me the same as I was yesterday ? secondly, What dis- 
tinguishes me from other persons ? The second question 
belongs in the next chapter ; the first will be taken up here. 

This question is commonly felt to be of vital importance. 
Whether the chair upon which I am sitting is the same chair 

189 



i 9 o IDEALISM 

to-day as it was yesterday is a matter of relative indifference. 
It is enoughthat the chair of to-day serves the purpose for which 
it is used. We care not whether parts of the chair have been 
replaced by others, or for that matter whether the chair has 
been replaced by a wholly new one. In fact, we are not 
interested in having the chair maintain an absolute self- 
identity ; and we cheerfully recognise the fact that all 
material things undergo a constant change, — that from a con- 
dition of newness and completeness they wear out and decay, 
and eventually disappear. But with personal identity the case is 
altogether different. We feel it to be of vital importance to 
maintain our personal integrity, to remain the same persons 
to-day that we were yesterday, the same to-morrow as to-day. 
If I am not to remain the same, if I may at any time be re- 
placed, like the chair, by another equally good, then why should 
I of to-day take thought for me of to-morrow ? How can I 
of to-day be in any way interested in the morrow ? It would 
seem, then, that if moral activity is to be rendered in any way 
reasonable, the identity of the self must be something very 
much more real and permanent than the identity of mate- 
rial objects. So strong is this feeling that we tend to conceive 
of the self as a soul, which not only maintains an absolute iden- 
tity from infancy to old age, but continues to remain the same 
after the dissolution of the body, and was already the same 
before the body was formed. 

2. THE SELF OF HEDONISM 

We shall more easily grasp the idealistic conception of 
personal identity after a review of the hedonistic attempt to 
explain it away. The conception of personal identity, and the 
distinction of self and not-self, has no vital significance for 
hedonistic theory. It is for this reason that it has not been 
worth while to refer to it in our previous discussion. For 
hedonism the value of ' personal ' interests depends, like that 
of all other interests, upon their quantitative results in terms of 



SELF-REALISATION 191 

sensuous pleasure. The suffering caused by a defamation of 
character is like that caused by the burning of one's house, a 
question of amount. But as a matter of fact the circumstances 
are such as to render the former usually greater. The distinc- 
tion of personal from purely material interests and the con- 
ception of self-identity has then a present, practical meaning, 
though it has no meaning that is ultimate and real. 

In chapter vi we saw that the hedonistic method of de- 
scribing or defining an object is that of natural science, which 
tells us the stuff of which the object is made. An object 
which remains the same must, therefore, retain the same mate- 
rial. It is this method which determines the hedonistic con- 
ception of self. As conceived by Mr. Spencer, the self is that 
group of impressions which remains the same throughout our 
experience. The distinction of self and not-self is thus a dis- 
tinction between the permanent and transient features of our 
consciousness. The ideas which refer to self are those which 
are permanent as distinct from those which are merely occa- 
sional. Self-activity is habitual and uniform activity, as dis- 
tinguished from that which is variable. Self-interest is the 
interest which is constant and permanent. As Mr. Leslie 
Stephen puts it, " That motive is most important for any man 
which corresponds to his strongest and most frequently stimu- 
lated instincts." 1 

Now the only ideas, or images, which appear permanently 
in consciousness are those representing one's own body. This 
is so evident that it needs no elaboration. All other objects, 
including the bodies of other persons, come and go in con- 
sciousness, but whenever we have any consciousness whatever, 
it includes a perception of our own body. Connected with 
the perception of the body are the feelings and desires that 
belong to the body. So it happens that our most frequently 

1 Science of Ethics, p. 73. The italics are mine. For a statement of the 
hedonistic self, see Spencer, Principles of Psychology, Part VII, chs. xvi and 
xvii, in particular pp. 471 ff, 



192 IDEALISM 

stimulated instincts are the bodily instincts, typical cases of 
which are the desires for food and for rest. In the sense that 
they are immediately the most imperative, these instincts are 
also the strongest. A man may be deeply interested in his 
business or profession ; nevertheless, he is obliged to spend 
a large part of his time in the satisfaction of bodily wants ; and 
if these wants are not satisfied promptly, they quickly become 
so clamorous as to crowd all other desires out of consciousness. 
Consciousness of self is, therefore, for hedonism, consciousness 
of bodily existence. Self-activity is the activity of one's own 
body, as distinct from that of other bodies ; and self-interest 
is directed toward the satisfaction of bodily needs. 

We have seen, however, that the hedonist does not remain 
content with a definition of reality in terms of impressions and 
feelings. The consciousness of things is for him a mere 
shadow of the things themselves. ' Mental elements ' is merely 
a convenient phrase, the real elements being the physical ele- 
ments. Accordingly, the self which is found in a permanent 
group of impressions and desires is not a final expression of the 
real self. The real self is the object which these impressions 
and desires represent, — that it to say, the physiological organ- 
ism. The permanent identity of substance which lies at the 
basis of self-identity is an identity of body-material. And this 
means ultimately the permanent presence in the body of iden- 
tical atoms of matter; for to the hedonist and materialist, 
nothing but the individual atom is absolutely and permanently 
self-identical. 

It is thus easy to understand why the hedonist attaches so 
little importance to personal identity. Even from the stand- 
point of consciousness it is clear that the group of impressions 
and feelings constituting the self is not an absolutely self-identi- 
cal group. The image representing the body varies from year 
to year, and with it the nature of self- feeling ; so that it be- 
comes doubtful whether much of the content of the self of 
youth is left in that of old age. And the same is true of the 



SELF-REALISATION 193 

substance of the body; it is probable that in the course of 
a normal lifetime there is a complete change several times over. 
Personal identity is, therefore, not different in principle from 
the identity of other mechanical objects and not more per- 
manent or real. A human being, a chair, or a steam engine 
remains the same while its constituents remain the same, but 
no longer. The activity of all of them rests upon the same prin- 
ciple, that of gravitation, or of conservation of energy, the only 
difference between them being one of complexity. The con- 
ception of self-identity has consequently no more significance 
for one of these objects than for any other. 

3. THE SELF OF IDEALISM 

The idealistic conception of personal identity is teleological ; 
self-identity is identity of purpose. This method of defining 
objects is, as we have seen, 1 quite frequently applied to mate- 
rial objects. Thus, if I attempt to define a watch or a steam 
engine, it is usually more illuminating to state its purpose or 
function than the kind of material of which it is made or the 
arrangement of its parts. And as long as the same purpose is 
fulfilled, the object may be called the same, whatever changes 
have taken place in its material or its parts. A house may be 
called the same though every part of the original structure has 
been replaced by new material. But the purposes fulfilled by 
material objects are after all not their own but those of some 
conscious being to whom they are of value. As purposive reali- 
ties they are consequently not independent realities but merely 
functions of some personal activity. Identity of purpose is, 
therefore, in its last analysis applicable only to personalities. 

The idealistic conception of personal identity assumes, then, 
that human life is determined by a purpose. The human infant 
comes into the world equipped with a set of instinctive capaci- 
ties. The peculiar character of each one's capacities deter- 
mines his individual life purpose; the purpose is realised in 

1 p. 96.' 



194 IDEALISM 

their consistent and harmonious expression in the form of 
activity. Just what these capacities are, the child of course does 
not know, and may not find out until he has reached a relative 
maturity. He may be a born physician or a born artist, and 
may not clearly recognise the fact until he has tried several 
other professions and found them unsatisfactory and uninterest- 
ing. Nevertheless, according to idealistic theory, the impulse 
which has governed his professional activities and ambitions 
from the very beginning, and which led him to try even 
the uninteresting professions, was none other than that which 
finally found satisfactory expression in the profession last 
chosen. Each one of us aims to realise a specific purpose, — 
to live a certain kind of life ; we may not know just what our 
purpose is until we have made several unsatisfactory attempts 
to accomplish it ; but we are conscious all the while that our 
end is specific, and that we shall not be satisfied with any form 
of activity in which we merely happen to be successful. This 
means, in contrast to hedonistic theory, that our activity is not 
determined by environment. We do not wish to adjust our- 
selves to environment, in the sense of choosing that form of 
activity which requires the least effort and promises the greatest 
amount of ease and contentment, but are determined rather 
upon reorganising our environment so as to realise the form of 
life toward which our nature urges us. In a word, instead of 
conforming to environment, we are determined to make the 
environment conform to us. 

From this it follows that self-activity is that which is con- 
trolled with reference to an end; as such it may be contrasted 
with habitual activity. The characteristic of the latter is its 
uniformity and automatism. According to hedonism, the more 
uniform and automatic an activity, and the less it is subject 
to variation and control, the more truly it represents the real 
self. The real self in the hedonistic sense is that which comes 
out when one is off one's guard ; a form of behaviour which 
is carefully controlled — sucji, for example, as a man exhibits 



SELF-REALISATION 195 

to his guests rather than to his family — is relatively artificial. 
The contrast of standpoint is neatly illustrated in the phrase, 
in vino Veritas, which means that the real man appears when 
he is intoxicated, and when, it is assumed, his prevailing ten- 
dencies and habits of thought assert themselves in all their 
brute strength, without reference to considerations of circum- 
stance or fitness. The self of intoxication is the hedonistic 
self stripped naked. According to the idealistic conception 
a man is most truly himself when he is most sober, when he is 
most distinctly rational and reflective, and when his speech 
and action are most distinctly controlled with reference to 
carefully chosen ends. The self of intoxication is thus the 
poorest possible expression of the real man. 

From this it follows also that self-interest is expressed in 
one's most mature choice rather than in the impulses that are 
mechanically the strongest or the most frequently aroused. 
We spend a large part of our time satisfying our bodily needs, 
but, according to idealistic theory, such satisfactions do not in 
themselves represent our ultimate purpose in life ; they are at 
best but means to an end. So also a man whose tendencies 
are all toward literature may find it necessary to spend most 
of his life in commerce, or he may not arrive at an adequate 
appreciation of his real tastes and capacities until most of his 
life has been thus spent ; nevertheless, it is not his most fre- 
quent occupation that expresses his real self, nor yet his most 
frequent expression of value, but that which represents his 
most mature judgment, — that occupation, in short, which he 
would take up if he were allowed to begin his life again. A man 
who has finally discovered an occupation that satisfies his tastes 
may consider that therein he expresses his real self, no mat- 
ter how much of his life has been spent in activities widely 
different. 

To say that our activity is most distinctly our own when it 
is most distinctly reflective and purposive is, however, only 
another way of saying that we are most distinctly ourselves 



196 IDEALISM 

when we are most clearly conscious. In other words, the prin- 
ciple of self-identity and personality is the principle of con- 
sciousness as such. When the idealist claims for us the quality 
of personal identity, he means simply that we are conscious 
beings, or, if we like the phrase better, self-conscious beings ; 
and that, as conscious beings, our activity rests upon a princi- 
ple which is totally different from that which (apparently) 
governs the movements of mechanical objects. Or, again, 
when he says that human activity is governed by a purpose, 
he offers simply a more adequate expression of the meaning 
implied in Kant's view that human activity is ' rational,' both 
' reason ' and ' purpose ' being intended to express the distinctive 
quality of consciousness. Hedonism, so far as it deals with con- 
sciousness at all, holds that consciousness is not purposive. The 
forces determining the direction of our thought and activity are 
the same as those determining the movements of mechanical 
objects. Their mode of action may be illustrated in the advice 
said to have been given by the late Cardinal Newman, " Preach 
the Trinity, and you will believe in the Trinity." In other words, 
practise a given form of action, and you will inevitably tend not 
only to make it a fixed habit of action but to believe firmly in 
the object which your action presupposes. Now according to 
idealistic theory, this combination of automatism with conscious 
belief and valuation is impossible. To take a simpler illustra- 
tion, if the individual movements involved in tying my cravat 
are completely automatic, they are also completely unconscious. 
If I become conscious of the operation, it is because its uni- 
formity and automatism are not absolute ; the movement has 
encountered some obstacle for which it was not prepared. And 
conversely, where consciousness is present, the activity cannot 
be purely uniform and automatic. And, indeed, in those cases 
where uniformity and automatism are desirable, as in tying one's 
cravat, consciousness of the movement tends to produce an 
undesirable disturbance. I cannot be aware of what my hands 
are doing without attempting to control them. The same is 



SELF-REALISATION 197 

true of the formation of a habit ; repetition will not produce 
its mechanical result if consciousness be present. To be aware 
of the formation of a tendency is inevitably to pass judgment 
upon it and to control it with reference to some desirable end. 
If the result of judgment is approval, the tendency becomes 
fixed at once. And when truth and desirability are once estab- 
lished, no extent of repetition can be said to increase their 
amount — except, indeed, where further repetition brings to 
light factors hitherto noticed, in which case it is not a mere 
repetition. And so, to recur to our first illustration, if I make 
a practice of repeating certain phrases with regard to the Trin- 
ity without inquiring into their meaning, I may perhaps form 
a fixed habit of repeating them, but the process is not con- 
scious, and the result is not belief. So far as my first sermon 
is the result of careful inquiry, and expresses a clear conscious- 
ness of belief, I do not need any further sermons to strengthen 
my conviction. So far as the first sermon is a relatively uncon- 
scious and uncritical aggregation of conventional phrases, repe- 
tition, if it have any effect upon consciousness, will serve only 
to bring to light any inconsistencies that the phrases may con- 
tain. Accordingly, the idealistic theory insists upon a funda- 
mental distinction between consciousness and mechanical 
automatism ; so far as activity is conscious it is not auto- 
matic, and so far as it is automatic it is not conscious. And 
since the human being is fundamentally conscious, his activity 
is fundamentally rational and purposive, and rests upon a prin- 
ciple wholly incompatible with that which is supposed to deter- 
mine the movements of mechanical objects. 

4. SELF AND SELF-REALISATION 

From this analysis of self-consciousness and personality we 
may obtain an idea of what is meant by self-realisation. The 
realisation of self is the realisation of the purpose implied in 
the capacities of one's nature. Every man is fitted to carry 
out some particular form of activity, to realise some particular 



198 IDEALISM 

purpose, to perform some particular function in the social 
organism. His duty is to find out what his capacities are, and 
to bend all his energies toward their special realisation. If, for 
example, his special tastes and aptitudes are in the direction of 
art, or of science, or of mechanical construction, or of adminis- 
tration of public affairs, it is his duty, in the choice of profes- 
sion, to select his own particular form of activity, and to 
endeavour to establish himself in it without asking which offers 
the greatest material return. His attitude will then be the 
reverse of the hedonistic attitude, which looks upon a profes- 
sion merely as a means of earning a livelihood. But a man's 
capacities are not all expressed in the choice of profession. 
They cover also his family life, his choice of friends, his appre- 
ciations of literature and art. In all of these regions he is to 
aim at complete self-development without regard to the ease 
or difficulty attending the process of realisation or to the 
promised return in terms of animal contentment. Thus, his 
choice of a wife will represent the demands of a complete 
personal sympathy rather than of wealth or of mere sexual satis- 
faction ; and his choice of books, of music, and of plays, will 
be an expression of his literary and artistic ideals rather than 
of a desire for a pleasant form of recreation. His life as a 
whole will be an attempt to attain a complete, perfect, and 
harmonious expression of all his several capacities. 

5. SELF-REALISATION AND PLEASURE 

We come now to a difficulty which will require a further 
definition of purpose and a more radical distinction from 
pleasure. It is probable that one who has followed our 
analysis thus far will assent to the distinction between a pur- 
posive and a purely mechanical activity, and will also admit that 
the tendency toward happiness, as conceived by hedonism, is 
ultimately a purely mechanical tendency. From this it follows 
of course that, if our activities are determined by a purpose, 
they are not determined by happiness ; and that happiness, or 



SELF-REALISATION 199 

the greatest sum of happiness, cannot, therefore, be made the 
object of a purposive activity. But here it may seem that our 
reasoning has deceived us. At first sight the antithesis between 
happiness and purpose seems altogether unnecessary. For 
why may a man not make it his purpose in life to secure the 
greatest quantity of happiness? In short, is there any real 
opposition between the two theories of conduct ? May we not, 
by a careful and purposive direction of our activity toward 
happiness as an end, fulfil at once the demands of both? 
And in fact is this not precisely what hedonism commands us 
to do? To meet this very obvious difficulty, let us look more 
closely at the distinction between pleasure and purpose. 

A purposive activity may be described as an organic activity. 
Now an organism, or an organic unity, is an object whose in- 
dividual parts or aspects are so related to each other that, when 
the object acts as a whole, it acts in all its parts, and when it 
receives benefit or injury as a whole, it also receives benefit or 
injury in every part, — in which, consequently, the value of an 
object or activity for any part is its value for the whole, and con- 
versely. There are no cases to be found of complete organic 
unity. The human body is the most complete illustration. In 
contrast to mechanical objects, and even to some of the lower 
forms of life, the mutual relation of its parts is such that, gen- 
erally speaking, if one be destroyed or removed, the body as a 
whole is destroyed. If the crank shaft of a locomotive break, 
it may be easily replaced, and the locomotive made as good as 
before. If an earthworm be cut into two, both parts will con- 
tinue to live. But if a human body be cut into two, both parts 
are dead ; and, generally speaking, if any organ be removed, 
the body as a whole is destroyed ; and, further, if any organ be 
diseased, the body as a whole is diseased. In short, each part 
of the body is nothing without the whole, the whole is nothing 
without all the parts. 

A purposive activity shows the same relations. Each step 
in the activity acquires its value from the activity as a whole, 



200 IDEALISM 

and the value of the activity as a whole depends upon each 
step. The several factors of a purposive act are thus related 
to each other in the same manner as the several organs in the 
body. If I make a journey to New York to fulfil an appoint- 
ment, no part of the journey has any value unless the whole be 
accomplished. If I am preparing for a profession, no part of 
the preparation has any value except as it is to be employed 
in the activities of the profession. If my life as a whole is 
the realisation of a purpose, no part of my life has any value 
except as the purpose is thereby realised. 

Now it is the assumption of an organic unity of activity 
which gives the self of the future a lien upon the self of the 
present. It is this only which constitutes an intelligible motive 
for considering the demands of the future. If my present 
activity is a preparation for a profession, then I have a suffi- 
cient motive for making now whatever efforts and sacrifices the 
necessities of the profession demand. Whatever motive I have 
for engaging in the work of preparation at all is a motive which 
applies with equal force to the demands of the future and to 
those of the present. If my activity is not organic and purpo- 
sive, there is no motive whatever for making any sacrifice of 
present comfort and convenience. 

When we consider the possibility of choosing happiness 
as an end, we find that it does not meet these conditions. A 
life devoted to pleasure is not an organic unity. It is rather 
an amorphous mass, like a heap of sand, every grain of which 
is just as much itself when away from the others as when with 
them. Every thrill of pleasure has its own value without re- 
gard to any other state of pleasure or of pain. A debauch may 
be followed by a headache, and I may say that the pain of 
the headache is greater than the pleasure of the debauch ; 
but this does not make the latter in itself any the less pleasant 
or valuable. In a word, each thrill of pleasure, like each grain 
of sand or atom of matter, is an independent mathematical 
quantity ; and a lifetime of pleasure, like a heap of sand, is a 



SELF-REALISATION 201 

mathematical sum of independent units, a formless aggregate 
which is not more complete at one point than at another. 
From the standpoint of happiness, a life which ends at seventy 
has realised nothing more than a life which ends at thirty. 

No, you may say, something more has been realised, — 
namely, a greater sum total of happiness. But when you reflect 
upon it, you find that a sum total of happiness is something 
which cannot be realised 1 and which, therefore, cannot consti- 
tute a purpose. For where is the sum of happiness when it is 
complete ? In other words, what is accomplished, what differ- 
ence exists in actual conditions, at the end of a long period of 
happiness rather than at the end of a shorter ? When a purpose 
is being realised, each step in the activity brings us nearer the 
establishment of the end ; and when the end is established, the 
conditions are different from what they were in the begin- 
ning. In some way life has been improved. Even if life is 
cut off in the middle, a certain progress has been made that 
will enable another to carry the purpose to completion. But in 
the sum of pleasure all that exists at any moment is the pleas- 
ure of that moment. The past pleasures have had their day 
and passed out of existence, and the future pleasures have not 
yet arrived. In the last of a series of states of pleasure all that 
exists is the pleasure of that state alone ; and when the series 
is completed, nothing has been accomplished above what ex- 
isted at the beginning. In a word, a sum total of pleasure is 
something which as such never really exists, and which cannot, 
therefore, be realised. Hence, it cannot be an object for a 
purposive activity. 2 

For this reason happiness furnishes no ground for self-sacri- 
fice, — that is to say, with happiness as the motive, the sacrifice 
of the present good to the greater good of the future becomes 

1 Bradley, Ethical Studies, pp. 87 ff. 

2 See Green, Prolegomena to Ethics (3d ed.), pp. 234 ff. ; and for the contrary 
view, see Sidgwick's reply to Green, Methods of Ethics (4th ed.), p. 134. See 
also Alexander's discussion of this point, Moral Order and Progress, pp. 196 ff. 



202 IDEALISM 

psychologically inconceivable. Remembering the emphasis 
which hedonism places upon prudential calculation, remember- 
ing too that in modern times this school has been the special 
champion of the duty of calculation, in opposition to the intui- 
tional advocacy of a blind obedience to conscience, this may 
at first sight appear paradoxical. But a moment's considera- 
tion will show it to be true. The hedonist, while claiming that 
the reasonableness of exerting myself for the benefit of others 
requires explanation, is accustomed to hold that the wisdom 
of providing for my own future is self-evident. But it would 
seem that the rationality of self-sacrifice must in both cases 
rest upon the same ground. Exertion for the good of others, 
though involving an apparent sacrifice of my own good, must 
be shown really to increase it ; and similarly, the good of the 
future, though demanding an apparent sacrifice of the present, 
must be shown really to increase the good of the present itself. 
If the good be the pleasure, the latter proposition, at least, must 
be false ; for the happiness of the present is diminished rather 
than increased by consideration of the future. In those cases 
where thought for the future is necessary — where present hap- 
piness is clearly at variance with future happiness — I should 
certainly be happier in the present if I could dismiss all thought 
for the future. Why, then, I may ask, should I take thought 
for the morrow? What claim has the morrow upon the pres- 
ent, that it may demand a sacrifice of the present? On the 
basis of happiness alone there appears to be no answer • * evi- 
dently any claim which the morrow may have upon the present 
presupposes that they are in some way related, — in other words, 
it presupposes some kind of personal identity. And, if we in- 
sist upon the self-evident rationality of considering one's own 
future, but question the rationality of considering the welfare of 
others, it is evident that personal identity of some kind is 
already assumed ; the self of the present and the self of the 
future are in some way more closely related than I and another 

1 See Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles, pp. 129 ff. 



SELF-REALISATION 203 

person. But it is also evident that the introduction of per- 
sonal identity modifies the statement of the end. The greatest 
sum of happiness is not now happiness in bulk — happiness 
which may be indifferently my own or another's, of the present 
or of the future — but happiness as the realisation of an ideally 
proportioned human life. It appears, then, that mere happi- 
ness is unable to hold the different phases of an individual life 
together in a consistent unity of purpose. When the hedonist 
calls happiness an end, he necessarily presupposes a basis of 
personal identity, and when this presupposition is made, the 
end is no longer mere happiness. 

It is instructive to note that, in the naive use of the terms 
' pleasure ' and ' purpose ' their mutual contradiction is quite 
clearly implied. For common sense ' the man of pleasure ' is 
the direct antithesis of l the man with a purpose ' ; a ' pleasure- 
loving person' is synonymous with a thoughtless person; a 
life given to pleasure is a life given up to the impulses of the 
moment, — a life without plan or purpose. And when we say 
of the lower animals that they are actuated only by pleasure 
and pain, what we have in mind is clearly absence of foresight. 
In every case pleasure means a surrender to the impulses of 
the moment, a renunciation of purpose, activity, and effort. A 
state of feeling is pleasurable to the extent that effort is absent, 
— to the extent that the present is undisturbed by doubts or 
scruples with regard to future consequences. The quintessence 
of pleasure is the languorous, dreamy state pictured in the 
Oriental paradise ; it finds its most complete expression in the 
Nirvana of Oriental philosophy, — a condition in which, all 
human ambitions and purposes having been dismissed as vain 
and empty, one has arrived at a state of final and complete 
absorption into an eternal present. 

It is to be noted, finally, that though hedonists very com- 
monly speak of pleasure as constituting the purpose of life, the 
opposition of pleasure and purpose is entirely in accord with 
the more careful expression of hedonistic theory. 



204 IDEALISM 

(a) It is true that the hedonist, in his discussion of pleasure, 
speaks of it commonly as the end, the motive, or the purpose 
of conduct; but here, as I have pointed out before, he is 
simply accommodating himself to the conveniences of language, 
— an accommodation which every one who discusses the subject 
will find it advisable to make. In reality, however, he is not 
thinking of motives and purposes as such. Motive and pur- 
pose is the language of subjective feeling, and for hedonism 
the subjective standpoint has no ultimate significance. What 
the hedonist has in mind is not the purpose of conduct but its 
cause. Now the cause of my preference of the future greater 
pleasure lies proximately in an association of ideas, — for ex- 
ample, in an unpremeditated intrusion of the thought of future 
want into the present state of enjoyment, which renders the 
present less agreeable in itself and hence less immediately at- 
tractive. The ultimate ground of this association process is to 
be found in the cerebral process corresponding to the association 
in question and in the complex of physiological and physical 
conditions by which its character is determined. The prefer- 
ence of the future greater pleasure is, therefore, not in any real 
sense a matter of purpose and foresight but, on the contrary, 
merely the cumulative mechanical result of the many past con- 
ditions in which undue indulgence in the present was followed 
by future want. 

{b) A completely hedonistic life — a life which finally real- 
ised the demands of an absolute maximum of happiness, and 
in which, consequently, every action from birth to death repre- 
sented an accurate adjustment to such demands — would be 
a life in which purpose had no longer a place. We are apt 
to think of such a life as one that is full of purposeful indus- 
try in its earlier years, the fruits of which are enjoyed later ; it is 
the life of the man of business who bends all his energies toward 
the accumulation of a fortune which he afterward retires to 
enjoy. But this is not the conception offered by scientific 
hedonism. According to hedonism, the perfectly adjusted life 



SELF-REALISATION 205 

is automatic and self- regulating ; it is the expression of a final 
and absolute equilibrium between the conditions of happiness 
and the actions which produce happiness ; it means that the 
process of association is finally complete, that the conditions 
of happiness in the future have so worked themselves into the 
present that undue indulgence in the present is no longer felt to 
be pleasant. A life of this kind contains from its very beginning 
no temptation to act in a manner prejudicial to the future ; 
hence, there is no occasion for thought of the future. To the 
extent that such thought is necessary, or possible, it means 
that the adjustment is not yet complete, that the causes which 
lead men to prefer the maximum of happiness are not yet fully 
efficacious, — in other words, that causes antagonistic to happi- 
ness are still at work. Accordingly, a perfectly automatic and 
self-regulating life would not be one in which all the enjoy- 
ment were postponed to the latter half, but one in which a due 
measure of happiness were enjoyed throughout. 1 

The conception of a life automatically regulated may be 
roughly illustrated by a comparison of the attitude of the typi- 

1 The following question arises : Granting that the man of business who 
hopes to retire in order to enjoy the fortune he has made is not yet completely 
adjusted to the conditions of a maximum of happiness, have we not neverthe- 
less in this case a purposive activity with happiness as its end ? It seems not. 
The case as thus conceived is probably not an actual one. It will be found 
that men who are so strongly in love with happiness and contentment as to 
make them the purpose of their life have never the energy of purpose which 
enables one to work for a result not to be realised until after many years ; also 
that men who will sacrifice everything for a fortune are usually unwilling to 
retire when the supposed purpose of their activity has been accomplished. 
This seems to show that the purpose was not after all the enjoyment of wealth, 
but a successful career. If enjoyment were the end, a man who had inherited 
a sufficient fortune should be willing to give up the thought of an occupation 
and to begin at twenty the kind of existence which he would otherwise begin 
at fifty or sixty ; but the man we have in mind would rarely be content with the 
mere enjoyment of a fortune. All his impulses lead him to do something and 
make a success of it ; and the happiness which he expects to enjoy at retire- 
ment (supposing that he is looking forward to enjoyment) is not happiness as 
such, not the enjoyment of mere leisure and security, but the consciousness of 
having achieved success in his life occupation. 



206 IDEALISM 

cal German youth with that of the typical American youth. 
The American confidently expects to make a fortune ; the 
German is not so hopeful, and often would prefer an appoint- 
ment under the government, with its moderate but secure in- 
come, to the responsibility of caring for a fortune. The Ameri- 
can ideal is to forego every pleasure of youth in order, by a 
painful industry and economy, to attain ultimately a brilliant 
success ; the German is industrious and certainly economical, 
but he believes that as a young man he ought to enjoy the 
pleasures of youth. He is, therefore, comparatively unwilling 
to carry his industry and economy to the point of hardship. 
He does not entirely neglect the future, but he suffers no 
feverish anxiety with regard to it. In a word, his life is, com- 
paratively speaking, automatically regulated. He works and he 
saves, but both are moderated, and he finds a certain immediate 
satisfaction and contentment in a regulated daily activity and 
in a regular increase of his savings which is denied to those 
who are constantly thinking of the ends for which they are 
working and saving. To the extent that genuine purposive- 
ness is absent and automatism is present he realises both the 
hedonistic conception of an equilibrium and the hedonistic 
demand for a maximum of happiness. 

6. SELF-REALISATION AND RATIONALISM 

We may now conclude our analysis of self-realisation with a 
brief comparison of this theory with that of Kant. Both, we have 
seen, are attempts to state the distinguishing characteristics of 
a conscious, or self-conscious being. For Kant he is a ' rational ' 
being ; as such his typical mode of activity is a consistent ad- 
herence to principle ; his rule of conduct is the categorical 
imperative, which means, when translated into the language of 
common sense, " Let your conduct be constantly determined 
by principle." But Kant's conception of a rational being is that 
of a merely ' reasoning ' being, as reasoning is conceived by 
formal logic. The Kantian rational being is, in fact, the personi- 



SELF-REALISATION 207 

fication of the syllogism. As such he is indifferent to the 
nature of his conclusions, provided only that they are deduced 
without contradiction from his premises ; he is indifferent to 
the ends attained by his conduct, provided only that his con- 
duct be self-consistent. But a being of this kind is clearly not 
a psychological reality. As a merely reasoning being, he is 
without motive for activity, without good or evil, and without 
moral character ; in short, he lacks most of the characteristics 
which make up a self-conscious being. Now it is these miss- 
ing characteristics which the theory of self-realisation aims to 
supply. The rational being is now conceived as not merely a 
reasoner, but an agent. He is not impartial with regard to his 
premises, nor indifferent with regard to the ends to be achieved, 
but, on the contrary, distinctly prejudiced in favour of those ends 
which are implied in his fundamental tendencies and capacities. 
These constitute the premises of his reasoning, and their sys- 
tematic and consistent realisation constitutes the rational process. 
The rational being is thus converted into a being with desires 
and motives, with possibilities of choice and action, of good 
and evil. As such he becomes a concrete psychological reality, 
— a self-conscious and moral agent. His activity is still a con- 
sistent adherence to principle ; but adherence to principle is 
no longer a mere exercise of consistency for consistency's sake, 
but the consistent realisation of a concrete purpose. 

With the introduction of the conception of purpose the 
idealistic theory becomes also an evolutionary theory. An 
evolutionary conception is, of course, not what we expect from 
Kant. And, indeed, in his conception of a rational being the 
possibility of evolution appears to be positively excluded. The 
ideal ' rational ' life is like the ideal hedonistic life, — a 
condition of unbroken equilibrium. The reason is like the 
governor on the steam engine. The governor regulates rather 
than directs ; it does not determine the activities of the engine 
toward any particular end, but simply maintains a statics quo of 
uniform speed. So the ' reason ' of the rational being simply 



208 IDEALISM 

holds his activity in a uniform condition of self-consistency, and 
thus excludes the conception of growth. But when we translate 
reason into purpose, we obtain a conception of rationality in 
which reason is capable of evolution. The activity of the 
rational being no longer shows a merely uniform consistency, 
but an ever increasing consistency. Each later stage in a 
purposive life exhibits, as compared with an earlier, a clearer 
and more definite conception of the life purpose and a more 
effective coordination of activities toward its realisation, — in 
other words, a growth in self-consciousness and self-control. 
But the process of evolution did not begin with the individual ; 
on the contrary, his own growth is simply a continuation of a 
process previously at work in his ancestors. If, then, the activi- 
ties of the adult are a development of the purpose of the 
infant, those of the generation must in turn be a development 
of the purpose of the race ; and, further, the life of the race as 
a whole must be the development of the purpose implied in 
animal life as such. We thus extend the conception of pur- 
posive activity to cover, first, the evolution of the human race ; 
and finally (leaving aside its possible extension to inanimate 
nature) the evolution of animal life in general. 

The chief exponent of the theory of self-realisation is Green, Prolegomena 
to Ethics. For other literature, see Paulsen, A System of Ethics, Book II, 
ch. i ; Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles, Part I, ch. iii ; Bradley, 
Ethical Studies, Essay ii ; Mackenzie, Manual of Ethics (3d ed.), 
pp. 234 ff. 

See also Dewey, The Study of Ethics, A Syllabus, for a form of 
theory which endeavours to unite, in "a theory which conceives of conduct 
as the normal and free living of life as it is," the demands both of ideal- 
ism and hedonism. Leslie Stephen, The Science of Ethics, and Alexander, 
Moral Order and Progress, represent a similar standpoint. 



CHAPTER XII 

IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 

Our next duty is to define the idealistic conception of social 
relations and the consequent conception of social duty. We 
shall find it convenient to proceed as before from the concep- 
tion of self. This conception, we have seen, must be defined 
so as to answer two questions : (i) What makes me the same 
to-day as I was yesterday? (2) What distinguishes me from 
other persons? The first question having been the subject of 
the last chapter, the second will occupy us here. Inasmuch, 
however, as distinction always implies relation, the principle 
which distinguishes individual selves must also determine their 
relations. The question may then be more fully stated as 
follows : what is it that distinguishes different individuals and 
also determines their reciprocal relations ? 

1. THE HEDONISTIC INDIVIDUAL AND THE HEDONISTIC SOCIETY 

It will be convenient to begin, as before, with the hedonistic 
answer to our question. The hedonistic theory of social rela- 
tions was outlined in chapter v. Our duty now is to trace the 
connection between this theory of society and the hedonistic 
conception of self as defined in our last chapter. 

Since the self of hedonism is the human body, it follows of 
course that individual selves are distinguished in the same 
manner as all other material objects, that is to say, by differ- 
ences of spatial position. This means, then, that two individual 
persons are as separate, distinct, and independent as two bil- 
liard balls. Now not only does their separateness and inde- 

209 



210 IDEALISM 

pendence rest upon their physical character but upon no other 
basis could it be asserted. If we think of two individuals as 
two series of states of consciousness, i.e. as two minds rather 
than two bodies, it may, and indeed must happen, that certain 
terms in the two series are identical ; for example, Peter and 
Paul may both perceive the same chair, or hold the same politi- 
cal or religious views. But so far as the two minds are iden- 
tical in content, how can they be two? Two billiard balls, 
identical in quality, both being red, spherical, and of the same 
size, are two if they occupy different portions of space ; if they 
occupy the same space they are one. But spatial distinctions 
have no application to states of consciousness. Two such states 
are not located in different brains, as popular psychology tends 
to assume ; and if their content is identical in quality, they 
have no other distinguishable features. Hence, they are not 
two, but one, — more properly, they have no numerical quality 
whatever. It is true that we often speak of Peter's perception 
of a chair and Paul's simultaneous perception of the same chair 
as if they were two perceptions ; but what we have in mind 
here is not so much the duality of mental states as that of the 
physiological and nervous systems which, as common sense tells 
us, are in some way connected with the act of perception. 
The difficulty of separating individuals is even greater when we 
think of consciousness as essentially purposive. For two pur- 
poses with the same end in view are clearly not distinguishable. 
When Peter and Paul form a partnership for the transaction of 
business, even popular thought refuses any longer to distinguish 
their respective activities. So far, then, as human beings are 
conscious and purposive, they are not wholly separate and in- 
dependent individuals ; if we are to think of them as such, we 
must restrict ourselves to the hedonistic conception of self and 
define the human being as a bodily organism. 

The interests of human beings conceived as animal bodies 
are of necessity mutually invidious ; one man's gain is another's 
loss. Peter and Paul cannot both eat the same apple. They 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 211 

may both sleep in the same bed and may both hear the same 
concert, but in doing so each prevents some less fortunate in- 
dividual from occupying his place ; for it never happens that 
there is a sufficient quantity of material goods and accommo- 
dations to satisfy the needs of all. If Peter's self were not 
wholly identical with his body, and if his interests were, there- 
fore, not concentrated upon the welfare of that body, it is easily 
conceivable that he should find a greater satisfaction in giv- 
ing up his bed to Paul. But since, as hedonism implies, he is 
wholly identical with his body, it is his interest and his duty 
to reserve his bed for himself and to prevent any one else from 
occupying it. 1 

The subjective counterpart of bodily interest is the desire for 
pleasure ; hence it follows that interest in pleasure is such also 
as to provoke a conflict of interests. When we speak of aiming 
at pleasure, we distinguish between the results of our activity 
considered in themselves and the amount of pleasant feeling 
they will produce in us. This feeling is the effect produced by 
the results in question upon the bodily organism. Now the 
more widely this effect is distributed, the less will be the inten- 
sity with which it is produced in any one person. The greater 
the number of persons who share the apple, the less will be the 
enjoyment of each. This is true also of pleasures much more 
complex than those of eating. Suppose, for example, that a 
village community has acquired a public library. No doubt 
every one concerned enjoys a certain amount of pleasure upon 
its completion j but the pleasure of each is greater to the ex- 
tent that the library is in some sense his own. Let us suppose 
that the library is the gift of a wealthy citizen. If his interests 
are not confined to those of his own body and its feelings, he 
may find a sufficient satisfaction in the thought that the library 
is in existence and that human objects in general are thereby 
advanced ; in this case it would be quite as satisfactory if the 
library had been the gift of another. But as a hedonistic in- 

1 pp. 8 3l 84. 



212 IDEALISM 

dividual he is interested only in the pleasurable feeling which 
the object causes in himself. And this feeling is intensified to 
the extent that the object is exclusively his own. To the extent 
that he shares with others this consciousness of authorship, e.g. 
to the extent that he is merely one of many contributors, the 
intensity of his pleasure is diminished. Pleasant feeling is thus 
necessarily invidious ; the pleasure enjoyed by one is denied to 
others. 

This conception of the individual accounts for the hedonistic 
conception of society. Since the several individuals are so 
many separate and independent realities, society is a mere ag- 
gregate or sum of the several individual units composing it, — 
not in any sense a unity. And since the interests of the several 
individuals are in mutual conflict, social organisation expresses 
merely a compromise between hostile forces, — not in any sense 
a harmony of interests. In this compromise no one is com- 
pletely satisfied; it means merely that each consents to aban- 
don some of his original claims to secure a similar sacrifice on 
the part of others. Thus social activity is like the movements 
of the balls on the billiard table. Each individual is separate 
from the oth&r ; the coming together is a collision of opposing 
forces ; and the final position of each is a resultant of the force 
with which he threw himself into the conflict compounded with 
those forces which he encountered. 1 

2. THE IDEALISTIC INDIVIDUAL 

The idealistic self is the purpose or ideal which is assumed 
to be the ultimate source or motive of my activity. Accord- 
ingly, my individual personality will be distinguishable from that 
of others only to the extent that our purposes or ideals are dis- 
tinguishable. Now when I attempt to define my life purpose, I 
find that it has by no means the definiteness of boundary line 
which is found in the lines marking the limits of my individual 
body. It is clear that self-consciousness is progressive. The 

1 p. 93- 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 213 

child's or the youth's knowledge of himself is far less complete 
than that of the mature man. But even the latter never com- 
pletely knows himself; for as long as life continues — at any 
rate as long as he remains in possession of his powers — there 
is a constant reformulation of ideals and purposes, a constant 
extension and completion of their meaning. For a conscious 
being maturity of purpose and of self is never really complete. 
The process of growth is of course brought to a stop by death ; 
but this need not mean that the possibilities of growth have 
been exhausted, or that all the capacities of one's nature have 
found expression. To these capacities and possibilities we can 
assign no absolute limit. 

Now according to the idealistic theory, the self in its develop- 
ment in self-consciousness soon expands beyond the boundaries 
of bodily self-seeking ; in its subsequent development it tends 
constantly to find a greater satisfaction in social than in exclu- 
sively individual ends ; and in its complete development it 
would be wholly identical with the self or mind of society. The 
clearest cases of bodily self-seeking are to be found in the 
actions of the young child. This does not mean of course that 
the child is actuated by no more generous impulses, but merely 
that, as compared with older persons, he attaches a greater im- 
portance to the satisfactions of appetite ; the surest road to his 
favour is a present of candy or cake. As a young man his ideals 
are still to a large extent coloured by bodily self-seeking, though 
the reference to the body is less direct. They now take the 
form of ' success ' ; and success means accumulation of wealth, 
political and social distinction, and the power to control the 
actions of his fellows. When, however, as a mature man he 
finds himself in the full exercise of business or profession, he 
discovers that the occupation has a certain intrinsic interest in- 
dependent of its advantage to himself; and though the profession 
has been adopted with the avowed motive of individual advantage, 
he soon finds a larger attraction in the activity itself. In short, 
the agent's interests have broadened, and with the broadening 



214 IDEALISM 

of interest there comes an enlargement of the original self. 
The same occurs when, as a father of family, he finds himself 
forgetting his bodily self in his interest in his wife and chil- 
dren; or when, as a citizen or householder, he develops an 
active interest in social and political problems ; or when, in his 
reading, or in social intercourse, he finds himself in larger fields 
of thought and expression. Every advance in maturity brings 
to light capacities of appreciation of which he was hitherto 
unaware. But each further development of capacity for appre- 
ciation is also a further development of social sympathy; it 
means a constantly widening identity of interest between self 
and others, and therefore a constantly increasing identity of 
self with other selves. Such is the idealistic view of the de- 
velopment of the individual self. According to this view, then, 
a completely developed individual — one in whom all latent 
capacities had been brought to actual expression — would be 
completely identical with the self or mind of society. This 
would mean, in other words, that if Peter and Paul were com- 
pletely self-conscious, their interests and their selves would be 
absolutely harmonious and identical ; they would be no longer 
two persons, but one. 

Thus the many individuals composing the race are not really 
many, but one, and their interests are not in conflict, but in 
harmony. To this we must add that their real interest is not 
in the enjoyment of feeling, but in the attainment of objects. 
Feeling, we must remember, is the effect produced by a set of 
conditions upon the body; therefore, to the extent that the 
self transcends the bodily self we cannot be said to be inter- 
ested in feeling. In this case, it might be said, we are inter- 
ested in the l feelings of others.' But such is not the idealistic 
view. Social interest, in the idealistic sense, is not a mere 
extension of bodily self-seeking to include the bodily interests 
of others. Social values are not mere summations of individual 
feeling values ; on the contrary, the socially minded person 
ignores all considerations of feeling whatever, and thinks nei- 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 215 

ther of his own pleasure nor of that of others. The best illus- 
tration of the social motive as conceived by idealism is to be 
found in the activities of art and science, which are very com- 
monly spoken of to-day as distinctly social activities. 1 The 
true artist, we are agreed, is he who ignores all considerations 
of self, as represented in the demand for fame or for profit, in 
his devotion to his art. But this does not mean that in his self- 
forgetfulness he is thinking of others. On the contrary, as a true 
artist, he abstracts from all considerations of personal feeling ; 
he is as little regardful of others' fame and profit as of his own ; 
he is unsparing in his criticism of his own work, but equally 
relentless in criticising the work of others ; he is untroubled by 
any regard for a l fair distribution ' of praise and blame ; in a 
word, he is not interested, nor does he conceive others to be 
interested, in any object but that of the successful realisation 
of artistic ends. His ' social ' interest is thus an intrinsic in- 
terest in the objects themselves. Such is the motive which, 
according to idealism, distinguishes social seeking from self-seek- 
ing; 2 it is an interest in the intrinsic value of his work which 
distinguishes the statesman from the politician, the physician 
from the quack, and the workman from the wage-earner. 

It may be objected that, since all values depend upon the 
relation of the object to human desire and need, i intrinsic 
values ' are inconceivable. To this the idealist would reply that 
he does not conceive the values of objects to be unrelated to 
human desires. Every sort of value for human beings must 
have its ground in the nature of their desires and tendencies. 
But according to idealistic theory the fundamental human 
tendency is not an instinct for enjoyment but an instinct for 
activity, and its satisfaction is to be found not in its reflex emo- 
tional effect but in the economy and effectiveness with which 
it attains its object. This motive has been neatly characterised 

1 On this point see Bradley, Ethical Studies, p. 204. 

2 On the intrinsic character of social values see Green, Prolegomena to Ethics, 
(3d ed.), pp. 252 ff. 



216 IDEALISM 

by Mr. Veblen as ' the instinct of workmanship.' 1 It is a com- 
mon instinct of workmanship, a common demand for the effi- 
cient development of human activities and for the attainment 
of the ends of humanity as such — as distinguished from a 
separate demand on the part of each for individual enjoyment 
— which, according to idealistic theory, constitutes the basis 
of social sympathy. 

Guided by this subjective view of the individual self, the 
idealist is led to deny that the bodily selves are, after all, as 
separate and independent as hedonism assumes. A real inde- 
pendence and separateness would require not only that the 
several bodies be capable of independent movement but that 
they be individually and independently self-sustaining. But 
this condition is never quite realised. It is least realised in 
the relations of mother and child. Before the child is born 
he is in every sense a part of the body of the mother ; and 
even after birth some time must elapse before the two are in 
any sense independent, for the function of nursing is as neces- 
sary to the complete welfare of the mother as to that of the 
child. There is a similar relation of interdependence between 
the sexes. It is clear that no sexual organism can be individu- 
ally complete ; the demands of health, if nothing more, require 
that it be not permanently separated from the opposite sex. 
But the relations which we find here are only to a degree more 
binding than those which exist between men in general. It is 
immediately evident that, in our modern life at least, men are 
not individually self-sustaining. Each one of us depends for 
his daily food upon an immeasurably wide range of social ac- 
tivities. The loaf of bread on my table is from wheat grown 
by some unknown farmer perhaps a thousand miles away ; its 
presence here is due to the organised efforts of a large army 
of railway officers, engineers, firemen, track-walkers, etc., and 
a failure on the part of any one of these to perform his 
duty might easily have deprived me, or some one else, of his 

1 The Theory of the Leisure Class, by Thorstein Veblen, pp. 93 ff. 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 217 

loaf of bread. On the other hand, every one of them is in 
some degree dependent upon me for his support. But even 
this does not express the whole extent of our human interde- 
pendence. We require not only the services of others but 
their presence and sympathy. A long term of solitary confine- 
ment or of solitary existence upon a deserted island means 
almost inevitably a loss of reason (and with it all the qualities 
that distinguish a human being), and a decrease of health 
and vitality. In view of these facts, the idealist asks whether 
men are in any sense individually separate and independent. 
Would an isolated human being be in any sense human? 
Would he be able to exist at all? 1 

The idealistic theory of the essential unity of the race is 
further illustrated in the relations of heredity. We grant of 
course that the individual is not independent of his ancestors, 
but from our habit of tracing ancestry only through the male 
line we are apt to think of each individual as the product of 
a narrow line of ancestry. A moment's reflection will show 
us that this conception is false. Each of us has two parents ; 
each of our parents had also two parents ; hence, if we are to 
include all of those whose nature we inherit, we shall find the 
number of our ancestors doubled for every generation we go 
backward, and a simple calculation will show that only a few 
centuries back they must have been many thousands. The 
individual is, therefore, not the last member of a line of ances- 
try, but the apex of a pyramid whose base doubles in size 
with each more distant generation. This theoretical result is 
modified, of course, by a certain amount of intermarriage ; and 
in isolated communities it may be found that nearly all the 
inhabitants owe their descent, through repeated intermarriages, 
to a few families. But no community has been indefinitely 
isolated ; at some time in the past its ancestors have formed 
a part of a larger community, and this in turn has received 

1 On the interdependence of individuals, see Bradley, Ethical Studies, pp< 
152 ff. 



218 IDEALISM 

an influx of blood from other communities and races. The 
individual is the heir, therefore, not of a restricted line of 
ancestry but of practically the whole human race. Any of his 
ancestors may have been responsible for his individual char- 
acteristics. Usually, indeed, he chiefly resembles his imme- 
diate parents ; but the facts of atavism show that he may 
inherit from remoter ancestors characteristics which have failed 
to appear in the intervening generations ; and when we re- 
member the enormous complexity of the individual character 
as it is actually exhibited, it becomes not improbable that every 
one of the ancestors has to some degree contributed to its 
formation. The individual is the heir, then, of practically all 
the capacities which have ever existed in the race. Some 
of these come to light in his individual actions, but every 
one of them is inherent in his character and probably capable 
of transmission to his descendants. But not only is he the 
heir of all the race in the past ; he is also the parent of all the 
race to come. His name, indeed, may be lost in a few genera- 
tions, through the extinction of the male line ; but his blood, 
i.e. his nature, is likely to be diffused ultimately throughout the 
whole of the race. Now when we look at the individual in 
the light of these relations, he becomes, on the one hand, no 
longer an independent individual but merely a phase in the 
evolution of the race ; but since he contains in his nature all 
the capacities of humanity, and in turn transmits those capaci- 
ties to all the doming race, he becomes, on the other hand, 
identical with the race itself, and the evolution of the race 
becomes simply the development of his own individual nature. 
If, now, we think of human evolution as the working out of a 
purpose, the realisation of the race purpose appears to be 
nothing more than the complete self-realisation of each indi- 
vidual, — such, in other words, as he would demand if he were 
completely self-conscious and completely aware of all the capa- 
cities contained in him. 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 219 

3. THE IDEALISTIC CONCEPTION OF INDIVIDUALITY 

Keeping in mind the nature of race identity, we may now 
understand the idealistic conception of ' individuality.' An 
idealist cannot, of course, overlook the distinction of individuals ; 
he denies only that they are separate and independent. The 
individual, in the idealistic sense, is the organised expression 
of special functions and capacities. We shall see presently 
what is meant by ' function ' ; for the present it will mean that 
in each individual certain generic tendencies are emphasised, 
certain others are relatively disregarded. Why this should be 
the case — in other words, why the individual with the capaci- 
ties of the whole race inherent in him should express himself 
more positively in some of them than in others — is one of the 
ultimate problems for an idealistic philosophy. Immediately, 
however, it is evident that some specialisation is demanded by 
the material conditions under which we live. For example, 
you are a mechanical engineer and I a biologist. It is clear 
that, since each is capable of only a limited range of atten- 
tion and of a limited amount of work, each must limit the 
extent of his activities in order to accomplish any satisfactory 
results. This does not mean that the interests of each are 
limited to the range of his activity. On the contrary, accord- 
ing to idealism, each as a human being is interested in the pur- 
suits of the other. For I am not a biologist only, but a human 
being, and as such I find in mechanical problems that attraction 
which they possess to an extent for all human beings. The 
special activity of each is thus to some extent a realisation of 
the ends of the other. Accordingly, though individuality in- 
volves a specialisation of interests, yet such specialisation is not 
inconsistent with a fundamental identity of interests ; it is rather, 
in view of the existing conditions, a more effective method for 
the realisation of our common ends. 

But individuality does not mean mere specialisation, but 
organised specialisation. It is the perfection of one's organisa- 



220 IDEALISM 

tion, the clearness and definition of one's interests, which 
marks the degree of one's individuality. It is only the highly 
organised individual who can be said to have any special 
interests, or, for that matter, any real interests whatever. And 
so, according to the idealistic conception, that organisation of 
capacity which marks the growth of self-consciousness is a 
development not only of social sympathy but of individuality. 
As compared with man the lower animals show a lower degree 
of organisation and of self-consciousness ; each member of a 
species has also a much less marked individuality. And the 
child shows less individuality than the man. 

4. THE IDEALISTIC SOCIETY 

The idealistic conception of society has already been analysed 
with some fulness in our analysis of the individual. It may be 
well, however, to make a special statement of its general 
features. Briefly expressed, the idealistic society is an organ- 
ism. In the last chapter I offered a definition of an organism, 1 
and it was noted there that the best illustration of the organic 
principle is to be found in the human body, in which, approxi- 
mately, the health of every member depends upon the health 
of the whole, and the health of the whole upon the health of 
every member. Now according to idealistic theory, not only is 
society an organism but it is the only real organism in existence. 
This point cannot be too strongly emphasised. The phrase 
1 social organism ' is a very common one, but our use of it is 
frequently metaphorical. We think of social relations as 
analogous to those found within the parts of the individual 
body, but it remains usually a mere analogy, since the only 
relations that we think of as truly organic are the physiologi- 
cal relations, the social relations being only figuratively such. 
For idealism, however, the relation of analogy is, if anything, 
reversed. The only complete unity is to be found in society as 



p. 199. 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 221 

a whole ; the unity of functions in the individual body is in 
itself incomplete ; it is merely a phase abstracted from the real 
unity of society. In a word, the individual is merely a function 
in the social organism. He retains his life and health, and, for 
that matter, his humanity, only while he remains a member of 
society ; apart from society he would no longer be a human 
being, nor, indeed, a living being ; he is therefore, like his own 
heart and lungs, not a complete organism, but only a member 
of a larger organism. But here the analogy is to an extent 
misleading, for we tend to think of heart and lungs as to an 
extent subordinate in importance to the body as a whole, and 
we do not think of them as having any real interests whatever. 
This, an idealist would say, is because the body is not in any 
complete sense an organic unity. A complete organism must 
be conscious and purposive not only as a whole but in all its 
parts ; unless each member be conscious and purposive, unless 
also its purpose be that of the whole, it cannot be expected to 
realise that perfect adaptation to changing conditions which is 
required by the conception of function. These conditions will 
be realised, however, in the organic unity of society. In the 
idealistic society every member is conscious and purposive, and 
the purpose of each is absolutely and completely identical with 
the purpose of society as such. Hence, each individual, though 
but a function in the social organism, is not in any sense a 
subordinate part; on the contrary, all are coordinate in the 
unity of interests constituting the organism. 

Since society is the only complete organism, it is also the 
only complete personality. Here, as before, though we often 
speak of society as a personality, we tend to think of it as a 
mere analogy to the concrete individual personality. But for 
idealism the only real personality is society itself; all individual 
persons, to the extent that they are mere individuals, are rela- 
tive abstractions. The individual person as we know him is 
only a partial expression of his whole nature, realising but a 
small part of the capacities of appreciation and action inherent 



222 IDEALISM 

in him. It is in his fellows, and in personal sympathy with 
them, that he is to realise his personality more completely. 
Each of them presents in his activity some further revelation 
of the human nature already inherent in the others. Conse- 
quently, if any individual be repressed or destroyed, the sur- 
vivors lose by it some of the aspects of life necessary to a full 
expression of their own personality. 

In its conception of a social organism the idealistic theory is 
to be distinguished from individualism on the one hand and 
from a mere collectivism on the other. 1 Owing to the emphasis 
which idealistic theories place upon freedom of self-activity and 
of self-development, they are sometimes condemned as expres- 
sions of pure individualism j 2 it is claimed that they urge the 
individual to develop himself without any regard to the effects 
of his self-development upon the development of others. But 
this is hardly a correct interpretation of idealism. True, the 
idealist urges a man to develop himself, and, if we like, his indi- 
vidual self; but he warns him at the same time that he will not 
find himself in any activities which bring him into antagonism 
with the real selves of others. Antagonism between men 
means that each fails fully to understand either himself or 
the others; if all were completely self-conscious, they would 
be completely harmonious. The idealistic theory is, therefore, 
not an individualism in any proper sense. Individualism pre- 
supposes a fundamental antagonism of individual interests. In 
urging each to look out for himself, and in insisting, moreover, 
upon a clear field for a trial of strength, it frankly implies that 
the stronger is to enrich himself at the expense of the weaker, 
and at the same time it frankly accepts the consequences as 
a true expression of relative values. 

Nor is the idealistic theory a mere collectivism. For mere 
collectivism presupposes, with individualism, an antagonism of 
individual interests ; and since all cannot be satisfied, we must 
award satisfaction to the larger interests (as estimated by capac- 

1 pp. 91, 92, 2 This criticism is directed specially against Kant, 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 223 

ity for enjoyment 1 ) at the expense of the smaller. And these 
larger interests have not only the power but the right to de- 
mand the sacrifice. Extreme expressions of the demands of 
collectivism are to be found in some of the proposed systems 
of communism and state socialism. The present organisation of 
society is only partially communistic ; we demand, for instance, 
that the owner of a lot in a certain residence district shall not 
erect a store upon it without the consent of the other prop- 
erty owners, but we do not go to the extent of allowing the 
others to dictate the style of residence to be built there, or to 
select its interior furnishings. In a truly communistic system, 
however, every act of the individual would be subject to the 
dictation of officials elected by the stronger party. These offi- 
cials would assign to the individual his work, his food, his clothes, 
his books, and recreations, without, consulting the individual 
taste except to the extent that it were in the interests of their 
party to do so ; if it were found advisable, from the standpoint 
of their party, they could assign him to an unhealthful or dan- 
gerous occupation ; or, for that matter, they could put him to 
death. Collectivism, in its extreme implication, is thus the 
complete inversion of idealism. According to idealism, the 
welfare of every member of the social organism is necessary to 
the welfare of the organism as such, while, on the other hand, 
each member finds his own good only in the social good. 

The idealist conceives of society as a community of rational 
beings — or, in Kant's terminology, as a l kingdom of ends.' 
Now a rational being obeys only his judgment of value ; and an 
action is not rendered intrinsically more valuable or good by the 
fact that a penalty is attached to its non-performance. There- 
fore, among rational beings, coercion is ineffective. But, on 
the other hand, it is also unnecessary ; for, as rational beings, 
men will do of their own accord what they conceive to be 
reasonable. As a rational being each member of society de- 
mands full opportunity for self-expression, nor, indeed, can 

1 pp. 87 ff, 



224 IDEALISM 

he act at all except along lines that express himself; but the 
demands of all members of society are, as rational beings, ulti- 
mately harmonious. It follows, then, that effective cooperation 
for social ends can be brought about only through a common 
understanding, — never by the application of force. 

6. THE IDEALISTIC CONCEPTION OF SOCIAL DUTY 

From this conception of social relations there arises a correl- 
ative conception of social duties. The substance of the con- 
ception is contained in Kant's maxim, "So act as to treat 
humanity, whether in thine own person or in that of others, as 
an end withal and never as a means only." This means that 
we are to treat our neighbours as reasonable beings, who are 
capable of a just appreciation of social ends, and need only to 
be convinced of the value of an object to work for its attain- 
ment. In other words, we are to treat them as persons, who 
are capable of appreciating values, and not as mechanical ob- 
jects, which act only upon the application of force. For exam- 
ple, in a business transaction with my neighbour I am to assume 
that his intentions are honourable, and. I am therefore to treat 
him with confidence and frankness rather than with suspicion. 
As an employer I am to assume that the workman has an in- 
trinsic interest in his work, and that he requires only a clear 
understanding of its significance to stimulate him to his best 
efforts. The teacher is to take a similar attitude toward his 
pupil ; he is to assume that the child has a natural interest in 
his studies (since otherwise the studies have no value to him) 
and that what he needs, therefore, is guidance rather than 
pressure. Or, again, in seeking an appointment I am to as- 
sume that the choice will be made upon the basis of intrinsic 
qualification ; my duty is then simply to see that the person 
with the power of appointment is provided with sufficient infor- 
mation ; any attempt at the exercise of influence or pressure 
would be unworthy both of him and of myself. In a word, 
then, the idealist condemns as immoral the whole system of 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 225 

things involving physical and mental coercion. He condemns 
not only the use of brute force, and the exercise of political, 
social, and family influence, but even the employment of per- 
suasion and argument, except to the extent that they appeal to 
strictly disinterested motives. According to him, the only truly 
moral relations between men are those based upon the mutual 
assumption of an absolute purity of motive. 

This view of the moral attitude toward others should be con- 
trasted with that of hedonism. The hedonist is an advocate 
of pressure. Each of us, he claims, is actuated solely by self- 
interest — that is, by the demands of the bodily self — and our 
interests are thus fundamentally in conflict. It is therefore the 
right and the duty of each to obtain all that he can ; and he 
cannot expect that others will aid him except to the extent 
that adequate pressure is applied. But, according to idealism, 
any actual conflict of activities will be due not to a real con- 
flict of interests but to an absence of mutual understanding. It 
is therefore the duty of each to respect and to strive to under- 
stand the point of view of his neighbour. In mutual under- 
standing and sympathy each will acquire a larger comprehension 
of his own nature, and each will contribute more effectively to 
the realisation of those generically human ends which are the 
ultimate expression of the real interests of all. 

This mutual understanding is not, however, to be confounded 
with 'altruism.' ' Altruism' is the antithesis of ' egoism ' and 
of hedonistic coinage ; and both terms assume that individual 
interests are in mutual conflict, and that each is determined 
by the demand for enjoyment. Altruism means, then, a sacri- 
fice of my own enjoyment to that of my neighbour. Now in 
striving to reach a condition of mutual understanding and sym- 
pathy between myself and my neighbour, I assume that he is 
distinctly not concerned about the reflex emotional effects of 
objects upon himself; if this were the nature of his interest 
it is clear that ' sympathy ' in any real sense would be out of 
the question. I assume, on the contrary, that he has a gen- 
Q 



226 IDEALISM 

uine and disinterested regard for the ends of humanity as 
such, and it is the community of such disinterested regard 
which is to constitute the basis of sympathy between us. 
Accordingly, neither of us finds it necessary to think of the 
profit or fame of the other, or in any way to consider the emo- 
tional effect which an object may have upon him. So far as a 
man is truly reasonable, and so far as his ideals are truly social, 
he will be ashamed of such individual sensibilities in himself 
and inclined to despise them in others, and above all things 
he will insist that his neighbour should not endeavour to ' make 
him happy.' Social sympathy, in the idealistic sense, is there- 
fore not a reciprocal regard for each other's happiness. It is 
simply the obverse of a disinterested regard for human purposes 
as such. 

In order rightly to understand the idealistic social attitude 
this obverse relation must be carefully noted. In the last anal- 
ysis the idealistic attitude toward others is not so much ' social/ 
in the popular and somewhat sentimental sense of sharing their 
joys and sorrows, as it is impersonal. It thus tends to approach 
in character the stoical and Kantian attitude of a regard for pure 
reason, but with this difference, — that, in the more modern 
sense, the demands of pure reason are the generic purposes of 
human life. With this difference in mind it becomes possible 
to find in ' reason ' a basis for social sympathy. On the one 
hand, it is the breadth and seriousness of his devotion to imper- 
sonal ends which determines for the individual his moral worth 
and justifies his self-respect, while it is through the assumption 
of similar motives in others that he shows his respect for them. 
On the other hand, through a common regard for generically 
human ends — and only thus — there is created a genuine hu- 
man sympathy, which is broadened and deepened as these 
common interests increase. 

It will be claimed, however, that men are, after all, not 
* rational ' in the idealistic sense ; that there will always be 
some persons who will take advantage of our confidence to rob 



IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 227 

us, some workmen who will shirk their work when they are not 
watched, and some pupils who will neglect their lessons unless 
they are punished for it ; that, therefore, a man who should 
hold strictly to the idealistic rule would soon find himself not 
only deprived of all his possessions but without the power to 
accomplish any useful object. To this objection the idealist 
would reply that men are rational to the extent that they are 
treated as such. If I find other men disposed to be hostile to 
me it is because my own attitude toward them is not strictly 
reasonable and disinterested. The teacher or employer has 
not wholly laid aside the pride of command, the business man, 
while striving to be fair, is still not wholly forgetful of his 
private interests, and the applicant for a position is still not 
wholly ingenuous in his statement of his qualifications. It is 
this lingering tendency to be on our guard and to protect our 
private interests which encourages others in an attitude of sus- 
picion and hostility. If our motives were pure we should find, 
according to idealism, that others were ready to trust us and to 
cooperate with us. The man who puts an absolute confidence 
in others is less likely to be deceived, even by those who think 
him a fool for his honesty ; the man who is less likely to resort 
to force is less likely to be attacked ; and the nation which gives 
more attention to the machinery of industry and less to the 
machinery of war is at least less likely to be the object of 
foreign aggression. In all human relations confidence begets 
confidence and suspicion begets suspicion. 

For the idealistic conception of society, see Wundt, Ethics, Part III, 
ch. i, 2, e ; Green, Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III, chs. ii and iv ; 
Bradley, Ethical Studies, Essay ii. 

For the conception of society as an organism, see Wundt, Part IV, 
ch. iii, 4; Sir Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, ch. iii; Spencer, Data of 
Ethics, ch. viii; Muirhead, Elements of Ethics, pp. 125 ff. 



CHAPTER XIII 
IDEALISM AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 

1. THE IDEALISTIC STANDPOINT AND METHOD 

In outlining the system of philosophy which furnishes the 
background to idealistic ethics, it will be convenient to repeat 
the order followed in our sketch of the hedonistic system, be- 
ginning with a reference to its standpoint and method. Both 
have received preliminary definition elsewhere. 1 The idealistic 
standpoint is the standpoint of self-consciousness, as distinct 
from that of the external observer ; and the idealistic method 
is the teleological method, which explains the peculiarities of 
objects by reference to their purpose, as distinct from the 
method of exact science, which explains them by reference to 
their mechanical structure. It remains, then, only to note the 
extent to which the idealistic method is actually operative in 
human thought. It is clear that our common-sense concep- 
tions are frequently teleological ; for example, if a man were 
asked, "What is a typewriter? " his answer would most prob- 
ably state its use rather than its structure. But a scientist of 
the strict type would probably hold this to be a matter of mere 
temporary convenience. He would point to the. biologist, who 
is constantly explaining variations by reference to their use, but 
at the same time insisting that the ultimately real ground of the 
variation is purely mechanical ; and he would claim this as an 
evidence that the use of teleological conceptions need not 
imply a teleological view of reality. We find, however, that 

i Ch. vi, i. 

228 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 229 

when the scientist becomes philosopher and attempts to con- 
struct a conception of the ultimate reality, he is rarely content 
with one that is purely mechanical. The most mechanical of 
conceptions, when extended to cover the world as a whole, is 
apt to contain some vague implication of a world purpose ; 
otherwise it does not satisfy even the scientist himself. And 
when we carefully ask ourselves what is necessary to explain the 
world, we find that we require not only a cause but a reason 
for things ; and by a ' reason ' for things we mean always a 
statement of their purpose or end. For example, suppose we 
are asking for an explanation of death : Why is it that individ- 
uals die and give place to others ? Why is not the development 
of the race a continuous, individual activity? Science might 
perhaps show us that death is a physical and chemical necessity, 
but this fails to answer our question ; for what we wish to 
know is not the mechanical cause of death but its utility in the 
world economy. The scientist might then reply that the ques- 
tion is meaningless, — that economy and purpose have no exist- 
ence except in human imagination and human convenience. 
But this, in its last analysis, means only that an ultimately satis- 
factory explanation is not forthcoming. It is not enough to tell 
us that all the complex world processes may be reduced (e.g.) 
to the law of conservation of energy. We want to know why 
the sum of energy remains constant. And ' why ' expresses 
nothing less than the demand for a reasonable motive. In a 
word, nothing is finally intelligible for human thought except 
that which satisfies our sense of the reasonable and desirable. 
This point is very important for an appreciation of the ideal- 
istic philosophy. We hear on every hand a protest against 
teleological methods of explanation. They are condemned as 
anthropomorphic and superstitious. And no doubt they are 
in origin anthropomorphic (as, in some sense, every form of 
explanation must be), but nothing which remains a permanent 
and intrinsic requirement of human thought can be called a 
superstition. The teleological method is probably the source 



230 IDEALISM 

of many a crude absurdity, and perhaps it belongs more to 
art and poetry than to exact science ; but in spite of the re- 
peated criticisms of science, the demand for reasons, as distinct 
from causes, remains as strong to-day as at any time before, 
and is found not only among poets and philosophers but, to some 
extent, among the most rigorous of scientists. Accordingly, 
though in making his special investigations the natural scientist 
may have good practical grounds for disregarding the question 
of reason and purpose and confining himself to that of cause, 
yet, ultimately, no theory of the world will be really intelligible 
which does not conceive of the world process as the realisation 
of some rational and desirable end. 

2. THE IDEALISTIC PSYCHOLOGY 

In conformity with his teleological method, the idealist as a 
psychologist chooses the process of deliberation and voluntary 
decision as his type of mental fact. It is here that our action 
is most obviously purposive and reasoned. Prima facie, 
this character of purposiveness shows all varieties of degree. 
We might arrange our activities in a scale, placing at one end 
the kind of activity which is the outcome of the most careful 
and extended deliberation, and at the other end that in which 
deliberation is at a minimum, — in which, in other words, action 
is most habitual and automatic. But, according to idealistic 
theory, these variations in the extent of the purposive charac- 
ter of our acts are only apparent. Granting that our more 
habitual actions show at present a relative absence of choice 
and consciousness, nevertheless they were purposive and con- 
scious when they were originally instituted, and they owe their 
maintenance and uniformity to the fact that they still continue 
to serve their purpose, since otherwise they would be immedi- 
ately modified. The act of lacing my shoe, for example, was 
originally the result of careful calculation and adjustment ; it is 
now relatively unconscious, but only so far as it is efficient in 
attaining its end. This conception applies not only to the 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 231 

habits formed by ourselves, but to those inherited from our an- 
cestors. According to idealistic theory, all our instincts, how- 
ever early their formation, were originally the result of choice 
and deliberation ; they were maintained and passed on to us be- 
cause they proved to be satisfactory solutions of their particular 
problems ; and their automatism and reflex character are merely 
a sign of the extent to which they serve their purpose. Habit, 
instinct, and reflex act are thus explained as derivatives of the 
voluntary act. 

Now the hedonist reverses the order of derivation. He 
chooses as his type of human activity that which is relatively 
automatic, such as the child's instinctive withdrawal of his 
hand from the candle flame which he has tried to grasp. The 
human infant is then conceived as a mechanism made up of 
a large number of such automatic formations, which are found 
to give pleasure and pain ; and his activity is determined by 
the pleasantness or painfulness of the stimuli through which these 
preformed reflexes are set in action by the environment. There 
is thus no place in the hedonistic system for a really voluntary 
act ; what we call such is simply a case where two automatic 
reactions come into conflict. For example, the child is stimu- 
lated by the brightness of the candle flame to grasp it, but his 
action is inhibited by the memory of a former experience, which 
impels him at the same time to keep his hand away from it. 
The subjective aspect of this situation is what we call delib- 
eration, and the final inhibition of the weaker reflex by the 
stronger is what we call voluntary choice. We have then two 
opposing conceptions of voluntary choice : for the hedonist it 
is the mechanical resultant of automatic tendencies ; for the 
idealist it is the original ground of their formation. 

The idealist holds a similar view of cognition. His view 
here is that of the ' apperceptionists ' as opposed to the 
associational view. The problem of cognition may be sum- 
marised in the question, How do I know that every object must 
have its appropriate cause and effect? The associationist, we 



232 IDEALISM 

remember, 1 refers our knowledge of cause to the influence of 
environment; the elements of our experience show certain 
regularities of coexistence and succession, the result of which 
is to produce in our minds corresponding associations of cause 
and effect, and these finally become so fixed in their character 
that we find ourselves unable to conceive of objects in any but 
causal relations. Therefore, according to association theory, 
the conception of cause is the final product of mental develop- 
ment. According to apperception theory it is the original 
basis of such development. The conception of cause is held to 
be one of the necessary presuppositions of a purposive activity ; 
for unless we can assume that events will occur in a fixed order, 
it will be impossible to make any plans for the future ; unless, 
for example, the farmer may assume that the sowing of the 
seed and the fertilisation of the soil will result eventually in a 
crop, it will be useless for him to think of farming at all. 
Therefore, as purposive beings we are bound to think of our 
world as an orderly world. Instead of passively accepting 
whatever experience offers us, we try to rearrange our experi- 
ence according to some conception of order ; when we have 
found an arrangement which is fairly successful as a basis upon 
which to carry out our plans — such, for example, as the con- 
ception of the conservation of energy — we make use of it as a 
criterion for distinguishing appearance from reality, rejecting 
whatever contradicts it as false and unreal. The use of such a 
criterion then becomes a fixed habit, operating, like other 
habits, with relative unconsciousness ; and the final result of 
the habit is so to concentrate our attention upon the aspect 
of order that we completely ignore those elements which 
would tend to contradict it. Though, for example, we receive 
two images of every object (one in each eye) we are never, 
unless our attention is specially called to the fact, aware of more 
than one, — because, as the apperceptionist would hold, it is 
necessary for the handling of an object perceived by sight that 

i Ch. vi, 2. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 233 

we see it single. The perception of order is due, then, not to 
the nature of experience, as associationism teaches, but to the 
selection demanded by our purposive activity. 

We see, then, that for the idealist the essential feature of mind 
is activity. Mind is a process, — not a mere succession of 
states. Mental development is the gradual unfolding of an 
inner purpose, — not, as the associationist conceives it, a 
gradual modification of the mental image through the addition 
of elements from without. The conception of activity covers 
both intellect and will. In both its aspects the mind carries 
out its own aims instead of copying the environment. Instead 
of yielding to the conditions of pleasure and pain, the human 
being insists upon satisfying his inner sense of value ; and 
instead of accepting without criticism the world offered him by 
experience {i.e. by external sense stimuli), he assumes the privi- 
lege of selection, ignoring those elements which are not useful 
to him, rearranging those to which he attends in a manner to 
suit his own purposes, thus setting up his own criterion of truth 
and falsity. And thus the idealistic man, instead of conforming 
to his environment, makes the environment conform to him. 

From this it follows that the idealist is a believer in free will. 
This statement requires perhaps some explanation, since free- 
dom, as we have noted, 1 has two rather distinct meanings : it may 
mean that action is determined by ' reason,' i.e. by our sense 
of value, but not by environmental conditions ; or it may mean 
that action is not determined in any way, and that a man's act 
has no relation either to his character or to his external circum- 
stances. The second conception of freedom, though doubtless 
the more popular one, receives but little recognition in philo- 
sophical circles to-day, for it seems clear that, if we are to dis- 
cuss human conduct at all, we cannot but conceive it to be related 
in some way to character, and thus in some sense determined 
by it, whatever our conception of character may be. At any rate 
it is not in this sense that the idealist believes in free wilL 

1 pp. IOO, IOI. 



234 IDEALISM 

According to him, freedom means that our action is determined 
by our reason, or our conception of value, and is not determined 
by automatic and mechanical tendencies set in motion by 
external stimuli. The latter is the hedonistic and deterministic 
view. The deterministic view, we remember, is the natural 
outcome of the standpoint of external observation, from which 
standpoint our actions appear to be the result of external 
stimuli, the factor of choice and motive not being in evidence. 
The libertarian view is similarly the outcome of the stand- 
point of self-consciousness and self-activity. For in the moment 
of choice I always feel myself to be free, whatever I may think 
about my past actions or the actions of others. In the actual 
presence of conflicting alternatives I cannot but believe that I 
can choose the course which I think to be desirable, 1 whatever 
be the strength of the opposing impulses ; if I am fully certain 
that eating of the dish before me will be followed by an attack of 
illness, I shall not eat of it. And in thinking of the past, I tend 
to excuse any irrational action on the ground that at the 
moment of action I was not fully self-conscious ; if I ate of the 
indigestible dish, it was because I was not fully alive to the fact 
of its indigestible character. In any case automatic tendencies 
have no power to determine my action when I am fully self- 
conscious. But the idealist is not content with the assertion of 
a relation between self-conscious action and rational choice. 
He claims also that I can always be self-conscious, that I can 
preserve my sense of value without regard to the strength of 
external influences. And he holds further that, ultimately at 
any rate, I shall be able to express my sense of value and, 
through effective overt action, attain the ends which it demands. 
This means, of course, that the environment must eventually 
prove to be of plastic material, adaptable to any demands made 
upon it by human reason. For only thus can we be really free. 

1 See Sidgwick's account of the feeling of freedom, Methods of Ethics (4th 
ed.), p. 67. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 235 

3. THE IDEALISTIC BIOLOGY 

It is evident that the idealistic theory of the psychical process 
presupposes an idealistic theory of biological evolution. For if 
the conscious and purposive principle assumed to underly the 
phenomena of human life is not also in some sense the princi- 
ple governing the earlier stages of animal life, the whole ideal- 
istic psychology rests upon the air. The purposive aspect of 
human activity would then have to be regarded as a mere illu- 
sion ; it could not be the real nature of the process. Now in 
chapter vi it was shown that there are two main tendencies in 
biological theory, represented respectively by the Lamarckian 
school, which (according to our interpretation) places the 
burden of responsibility for the course of evolution upon the 
environment, and by the school of Weismann, which places it 
upon the inherent nature of the organism, — in particular, 
upon the constitution of the germ plasm. It was shown also 
that the hedonistic moralist is definitely committed to the 
Lamarckian standpoint, and, by implication, that the Lamarck- 
ian in biology must be a hedonist in ethics ; and it was inti- 
mated that the same relations would be found to exist between 
the standpoint of the Weismann school and idealistic ethics. 
The first of these propositions was easily made evident. The 
second is somewhat difficult to establish, — especially in view 
of the fact that the biological representatives of the Weismann 
school are generally explicit in their announcement that the 
constituents of the germ plasm are purely mechanical elements, 
and the process of evolution a purely mechanical process. And 
a satisfactory disproof of their statement could not be offered 
without examining the mechanical operations assumed by them 
in minute detail, — a task which only a trained biologist is 
capable of performing. I shall therefore not attempt anything 
in the way of proof, but shall merely indicate the general 
grounds which we may have as outsiders for believing that what 
the biologist calls germ plasm is nothing more nor less than 



236 IDEALISM 

what the idealist calls self, — in other words, that the germ- 
plasm theory is nothing more nor less than an idealistic and 
teleological theory of evolution. 1 

In the first place, the assumption which is fundamental to the 
theory of germ plasm — namely, the absolute stability and con- 
tinuity of the germ plasm since the origin of life — seems to be 
a priori incompatible with a mechanical conception of its 
nature and operations. For, according to the mechanical con- 
ception of the universe, every object is subject to the influence 
of surrounding objects, including not only those immediately 
surrounding it, but all other objects in the universe; according to 
the law of gravitation, every particle of matter is attracted by 
every other. And this conception is largely confirmed by our 
common experience of mechanical objects. There is nothing 
which, in the course of time, does not suffer some kind of 
modification from the presence of surrounding objects. We 
may cover an iron girder with paint to protect it from rust, 
but it will still be subject to molecular changes due to the 
vibration of other bodies in its neighbourhood ; and these 
modifications alone (not to speak of others) could not be 
guarded against except by some kind of mechanical adjustment 
which should exactly neutralise each particular vibratory move- 
ment by which the object were approached, — an adjustment 
whose mechanical complexity passes the limits of our imagi- 
nation. But of all the objects which are susceptible to exter- 
nal influences the organic substances are the most susceptible. 
And their increased sensitiveness is due, according to the me- 
chanical view, to their greater complexity, which may also be 
inferred from the very common experience that the more com- 
plex a machine the more likely it is to get out of order and the 

1 The interpretation of the biological controversy offered here and in chapter 
vi is clearly implied in Professor James's chapter on " Necessary Truths and 
Effects of Experience " (Vol. II, ch. xxviii, of his Psychology^). In fact, if we take 
this chapter together with his chapters on Emotion, Instinct, Will, and Reason- 
ing, we have a full set of materials for an idealistic theory of psychological and 
biological development. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 237 

more easily it is rendered useless. Now of all organic substances, 
the germ plasm is assumed to be the most complex. It is 
therefore a fortiori inconceivable that it should be at the same 
time the most stable. And still less is it conceivable that its 
stability should have remained unbroken since the origin of 
life. There is only one hypothesis upon which the principle 
of absolute stability could be maintained, namely, that the 
germ plasm had been perpetually protected by some apparatus 
which exactly neutralised each particular influence by which 
it had been approached ; but such hypothesis would of itself 
involve the abandonment of the mechanical principle and the 
assumption of a directing consciousness. 

It appears, then, that in the fundamental postulate of the 
germ-plasm theory we have not only a contradiction of the 
mechanical principle but, in its last analysis, a direct protest 
against the application of that principle to the phenomena of life. 
When we carefully examine the postulate of stability and con- 
tinuity, what it appears to mean is that the life process is in a 
peculiar manner self-sustaining, — that, in contrast to the purely 
mechanical activities, it is not interrupted or thrown out of gear 
by every change in external conditions. 

So much for the negative aspects of the germ plasm. It 
appears now, in the second place, that when the nature of the 
function performed by the germ plasm is carefully analysed, it 
can be interpreted in no way except as a teleological function, 
— a function of conscious direction. What the germ plasm 
is supposed to accomplish, through its stability and continuity, 
is the maintenance, in its continuity and integrity, of the ani- 
mal ' type.' But an animal type, it appears, is not a mere 
sum of constituent features. 1 The type, as distinct from the 
individual, is not merely the aggregate of those features com- 
mon to all individuals. ' Man,' for example, is not merely the 
aggregate of the features common to all men. If this were 
our method of defining the type, ' man ' would have very little 

1 See Sir Leslie Stephen's analysis of ' type,' The Science of Ethics, pp. 74 ff. 



238 IDEALISM 

human meaning ; he would be little more than the ' featherless 
biped ' of formal logic. Rather must we say, then, that the 
human type is expressed in all the features of every individual ; 
every individual human action is in some way an expression of 
the meaning or the type of human nature. No doubt some 
features are more common than others, and perhaps, under 
the conditions of human life, some features are more essential, 
but it is conceivable that two individuals might both be typi- 
cally human in character though differing in every particular 
feature. By an animal type we mean, then, not a sum of con- 
stant features, but a constant relation between varying features. 
In assigning two individuals to the same type, we mean that the 
principle of their being is the same. But identity of principle 
as applied to animal types is ultimately nothing less than an 
identity of purpose ; when we speak of the ' principle of life,' 
we distinguish the life processes from others and conceive 
them as organised with reference to an end ; and the principle 
of an individual type is the more specialised end implied in 
its characteristic system of activities. 

The germ-plasm theory is then simply an attempt to formu- 
late this purposive principle upon a concrete biological basis. 
It sets out with the assumption that the principle is real, that in 
spite of numerous individual variations there is a certain sta- 
bility and continuity of type, — that, in a word, the animal type 
is not, as all mechanical analogies would lead us to suppose, a 
mere reflection of its environment. It then attributes the per- 
sistence of type to the action of an indestructible and unmodi- 
fiable germ plasm. But how does the germ plasm perform its 
duty? Evidently, when we come to the point, by maintaining 
a certain balance of functions, a certain organic relation of struc- 
tural parts, through the infinity of varying conditions tending to 
individual modifications ; in other words, by keeping the 
organism in the line of its underlying meaning and purpose in 
spite of obstructive conditions. When we thus conceive of the 
activity of the germ plasm (as I believe we must), and when, 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 239 

moreover, we remember that the germ plasm is still a mere con- 
ception, not anything that is positively identified under the 
microscope, it appears to be, in spite of the denials of those 
who stand for it, a function of conscious direction. 

This will make it clear upon what biological basis the ideal- 
istic psychology rests. The idealist claims that. our mental life 
is an endeavour to realise the purpose implied in our inherited 
nature. The hedonist admits that we have an inherited nature 
of a certain specific kind, but he claims that all these specific 
tendencies, or instincts, may be traced to the effects of our an- 
cestral environment. The idealistic answer to this claim is to 
maintain that, on the contrary, this inherited, or inherent nature, 
including its purposive character, is a factor which has been con- 
stantly present since the beginning of life, and which has been, 
throughout the course of evolution, the positively determin- 
ing factor. It then appears that the self, or purpose, which 
dominates human life is nothing but a fuller expression of the 
principle underlying life as a whole. 1 

4. THE IDEALISTIC COSMOLOGY 

It remains only to consider the attitude of the idealist toward 
the inorganic world. It will be remembered that the hedonist, 
to the extent that he became a consistent and uncompromising 
representative of his school, tended more and more to ignore 
the activity of consciousness, until finally he either denied its 
existence altogether, or conceived it to be, at any rate, nothing 
more than a highly complex arrangement of atoms and forces. 
The idealist, to the extent that he is similarly rigorous, goes 
equally far in the opposite direction. As a pure idealist he is 
not content with attributing consciousness to human action, nor 

1 The presence of idealistic motives in biological thought might be still more 
conclusively demonstrated by a reference to the new German' vitalistic ' school, 
which attributes the organic character of animal structure to a non-mechanical 
(in the ordinary sense) principle of harmonious coordination ; but the doctrine 
is not yet sufficiently developed to serve our purposes here. 



240 IDEALISM 

yet with the extension of the conscious principle to cover the 
world of life, but holds it to be finally the one principle deter- 
mining the activities of the world as a whole. In other words, 
after merely minimising the limitations orTered by external me- 
chanical conditions, he comes finally to the conclusion, either 
that these conditions have no real existence, or that they are, at 
any rate, only the expression of a larger range of consciousness 
and purpose, and hence offer no real obstructions to human 
activity. 

The view which completely cancels the external world is that 
of subjective idealism. Its most uncompromising representa- 
tive was Bishop Berkeley. 1 All that we have ever known to 
exist, says Berkeley, or all that we ever could know to exist, is 
our ideas ; for whatever is presented to us is presented in an 
idea. It is therefore impossible that we should infer or even 
conceive the existence of anything but our ideas. What we 
call the external material world is really nothing more than a 
certain mode or quality of our consciousness. 

In the interpretation of idealistic philosophies, the extent to 
which they accept the subjective theory is usually difficult to deter- 
mine. The extreme form of the subjective theory has probably 
never been genuinely accepted. The argument which thus sum- 
marily disposes of the material world disposes at the same time 
both of other personalities and of God ; for if nothing exists 
except what I have in idea, then surely other personalities have 
as little reality as matter itself. Even Berkeley was not willing 
to accept this consequence of his view ; in fact, it seems clear 
that in directing his argument against 'that inert substance 
called matter ' his intention was to strengthen the argument 
for the existence of God. But not even matter is to be thus 
lightly abandoned. It may not be inert and unconscious, as 
it is ordinarily conceived, but we cannot avoid recognising a 
world which is in some sense other than ourselves, and thus in 
some sense outside of ourselves. Accordingly, the more com- 

1 Principles of Human Knowledge. 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 241 

raon form of idealism is to some extent objective, reinterpreting 
the external world rather than completely annulling its existence. 

The earlier form of the objective view is the naive animism 
of the ancients ; it finds expression in their poetry and mythol- 
ogy, in which all natural objects, such as trees, rivers, clouds, 
and mountains, are conceived as personalities, and their move- 
ments interpreted as the expression of a personal will. These 
naive conceptions have given way, of course, to the progress 
of science and philosophy, yet the animistic motive is still 
represented in the idealistic philosophy. Idealists have ceased 
to believe in the individual personality of trees and rivers, but 
this means only that they have extended the conception of 
personality to cover nature as a whole. In theological terms it 
means that, instead of many gods, each controlling a special 
object or a special department of nature, there is one god, who 
reveals himself in nature as a whole. Philosophical theology 
and idealistic philosophy have thus a large measure of agree- 
ment. Though the philosopher as such may shun the term 
1 God ' on account of its anthropomorphic associations, and may 
prefer to speak of the 'conscious principle,' or of the 'uni- 
versal self,' yet the latter has in substance the same meaning 
as the former. Whatever differences remain relate chiefly to 
the manner in which the personality of God is conceived. For 
the idealistic philosopher God is simply the larger personality 
in whom all individual persons find the completion of their own 
nature ; God is thus the complete social personality, or world 
personality, of which the individuals are but specialised ex- 
pressions. The theologian, on the other hand, has a tendency 
to separate the personalities of God and man in much the same 
manner as in common thought we separate the personalities of 
individual men. But in the more philosophical theology of the 
present day this tendency is disappearing, and the theologian 
is coming to think of individual men as having their being in 
God rather than outside of him. 

In more recent idealistic philosophy the place of man in 



242 IDEALISM 

nature rests upon the analogy of the place of consciousness in 
human activity. We find that in proportion as we are conscious 
of what we are doing, our activity is a process of readjustment 
with relation to an end, and that in proportion as our activity 
is automatic and habitual, it is also unconscious. Accordingly, 
taking our activity as a whole, consciousness is the point of 
readjustment; automatic or mechanical action represents the 
adjustments already made. Here, then, within the individual 
life, we have just the terms and relations which we have to 
connect in our theory of the world as a whole ; and, according 
to idealism, the relations which are found in this smaller world 
may logically and reasonably be extended to cover the larger. 
Making this extension, we take the position that in the world as 
a whole consciousness is simply the process of readjustment, 
while mechanical movements are adjustments already made. 
Inorganic movements are, like human habits, those which 
maintain a constant regularity ; organic movements show every- 
where a degree of readjustment ; and the highest degree of 
readjustment is found in the voluntary acts of human beings. 

But the readjustment of human action is a readjustment to 
an end ; and, as we have seen, the end is in some sense al- 
ready contained or implied in the automatic activities them- 
selves. When these activities became automatic, it was because 
they had effected a proper adjustment to their end; if they 
have again come to consciousness, it is because they call for 
readjustment. But if they were able to respond to newer 
demands, they must have been in some sense conscious all 
the time. In other words, what we have to deal with, in the 
distinction between consciousness and mechanism, is not an 
absolute distinction of consciousness and unconsciousness, but 
a relative distinction of clear and obscure consciousness, — or, 
as more commonly stated, between consciousness and sub- 
consciousness. When our activities emerge into clear con- 
sciousness it means that we are attempting to realise our end 
more definitely and completely than before; the forces at 



AS A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY 243 

work in us are coming to a larger realisation of their own 
meaning. Now here again, according to idealism, we have a 
scheme of the relations between man and nature. No new prin- 
ciple appears when we pass from the inorganic to the organic, 
nor is the inorganic world in any absolute sense without con- 
sciousness or meaning. The physical and chemical reactions 
are like our habitual actions, the organised expression of a 
meaning already acquired. When the physical substances 
come to constitute the material of an organic body, it indicates 
only that this inner meaning is more completely and definitely 
realised, while, on the other hand, the highest flights of human 
consciousness are nothing more than the last and most com- 
plete revelation of the meaning of inanimate nature. 

If we adopt this view, we cannot regard the inorganic world 
as in any absolute sense hostile to human purposes. If such 
hostility appears, it must mean that we do not fully understand 
either nature or ourselves. For example, we speak of being 
bound by the conditions of space and time. But, an idealist 
might urge, these conditions have never exerted any restrain- 
ing force except to the extent that men have failed to under- 
stand both nature and themselves. Through the application 
of steam and electricity modern civilisation has very largely 
removed the restrictions which space and time placed upon the 
ancients, and has created for itself an environment which is to 
a large extent new. Yet the external conditions themselves, 
conceived apart from the work of man, are not different now 
from at any time in the past ; nature offered as much to the 
ancients in the way of materials (e.g. coal and iron) as she 
offers to us. The real difference lies in the extent of human 
self-consciousness. The modern man has attained a more 
complete consciousness of his ends and his capacities, and the 
growth in self-consciousness is at the same time a growth of 
consciousness with regard to the meaning of nature. Accord- 
ingly, the only real limitations to the attainment of human 
purposes are those of self-knowledge. If we were completely 



244 IDEALISM 

self-conscious — if we had a complete knowledge of our nature 
and of our life purpose — there would be no aspect of the life 
purpose which might not be realised at once. 

This view of the world may, in conclusion, be regarded as 
simply a later development and a more explicit statement of 
Kant's principle that the law of reason is the law of nature. By 
the law of reason he means the law of consciousness as such ; 
and in conceiving it to be the law of nature, he means that the 
conscious principle is the principle of the universe as a whole. 
But ' nature ' is for him simply an external appearance overlying 
the rational principle ; and no connection is made out between 
nature and the rational principle as revealed in man. The later 
idealism undertakes to connect the two through the conception 
of evolution. It holds now not merely that the world is rational 
but that its rational quality comes to light in the course of its 
development. It then follows that the rational principle as 
revealed in man is simply the last and most perfect expression 
of the principle which from the beginning has controlled the 
operations of inanimate nature. 

On the idealistic standpoint and method, see Martineau, Types of 
Ethical Theory, Part II, Book I, ch. i, i. 

The clearest exposition of the apperceptional, or idealistic, psychology is 
to be found in Stout, Analytic Psychology. See also James, Principles 
of Psychology, chs. xii and xxiv ; Ward, art. on " Psychology, " Ency- 
clopedia Britannica ; Dewey, The Study of Ethics, A Syllabus, ch. iii, 
"The Reflex Arc Concept in Psychology," Psychological Review, Vol. Ill, 
No. 4. For a further account of the distinction between associational and 
apperceptional theory, see two papers by the present writer in the Philo- 
sophical Review : " The Associational Conception of Experience," Vol. 
IX, No. 3 ; " Contiguity and Similarity, " Vol. IX, No. 6. 

For a statement of the Weismann theory, see Weismann, The Germ- 
Plasm, tr. Parker and Ronnfeldt (Scribner, 1898); Romanes, An Exam- 
ination of Weis?nannism. 

For the idealistic view of the world as a whole, see Green, Prolegomena 
to Ethics, Book I, ch. ii ; Lloyd, Dynamic Idealism (a brief and concise 
statement of the general features of modern idealism) ; Royce, The World 
and the Individual (Vol. II for the ethical doctrine). 



CHAPTER XIV 

IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 

1. IDEALISM AND THE COMMON-SENSE SCALE 

It will be remembered that, in estimating the value of hed- 
onistic theory, we found it to be approximately valid for the 
more elementary regions of moral activity, but progressively 
inapplicable as we go higher in the scale. In this chapter I 
shall endeavour to show that, with regard to idealism, the situ- 
ation is exactly reversed, — that idealism offers a relatively con- 
sistent and systematic account of the motives and forces at 
work in the higher stages of morality and culture, but becomes 
progressively inapplicable as we go lower. In this showing the 
burden of argument will rest somewhat on the positive side, 
whereas in the examination of hedonism it rested on the nega- 
tive. The reason for this is evident. Hedonism has very dis- 
tinctly an area of concrete application, while its limitations are 
difficult to define. On the other hand, it is quite difficult to 
translate the idealistic theory into concrete terms, and for this 
reason its practical possibilities as a theory of conduct are fre- 
quently underestimated. 

There will be no difficulty, perhaps, in establishing our general 
position, that the attitude of men is more distinctly idealistic 
as they stand higher in the cultural scale ; for nothing more 
clearly distinguishes the attitude of the more conscientious man 
than his seriousness of purpose and his sense of responsibility 
with regard to the use and development of his capacities and 
opportunities. From the higher standpoint every capacity or 
opportunity implies a duty. At the lower stage the use and 

245 



246 IDEALISM 

development of a capacity is a question mainly of its condu- 
civeness to material welfare and happiness. The contrast is 
clearly illustrated in the attitude shown by men of different 
stages of moral development in the choice of business or pro- 
fession. To many men it is a question merely of the best living. 
Yet there are few who will not make some sacrifices in favour 
of an occupation which more nearly expresses their native in- 
terests. For that matter there are few workmen, of however 
low a grade, who fail to appreciate the dignity of being intrusted 
with a task demanding the special exercise of skill, and who 
would not, indeed, make some material sacrifices for the sake 
of the more responsible sort of work. But for a really conscien- 
tious man this is not a matter of choice, as it is more commonly 
conceived, but a matter of duty. It is not now a question 
merely of a remunerative occupation, but of finding that occu- 
pation which will bring all one's special capacities into play and 
realise their human value. And the responsibility for making 
this choice is only increased by circumstances which relieve one 
of the necessity of remuneration. 

Not only is the idealistic motive shown in our sense of indi- 
vidual responsibility, but it underlies our more advanced concep- 
tions of human values in general. It is in proportion as activity 
becomes purposive and, in the idealistic sense, the expression of 
individuality, that human life as such becomes valuable. It is 
this standard of value which, from the higher standpoint, meas- 
ures the real superiority of human as compared with animal 
life ; human life is superior because its spiritual capacities are 
greater. It is this also which gives to human life as such a 
higher value in civilised communities than among savages ; and 
indeed, nothing so clearly marks the progress of civilisation as 
the value placed upon human life as such. It is this, again, 
which leads us to attach a higher value to some lives than to 
others. No doubt every man's life contains some quality neces- 
sary to the completeness of human life as such. But some lives 
represent a more marked capacity and have a greater measure 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 247 

of individuality and meaning than others. Thus it happens 
that, while death is rarely felt to be anything but a loss, yet the 
death of a young man, especially of a man of great capacity and 
promise, is felt to be in a peculiar manner irreparable. This is 
not because his loss is a material disadvantage — it may not be 
such to those who feel it most — but because, finally, it means 
that some important quality of life has failed to attain expression, 
as a result of which our human life as a whole is poorer than it 
might otherwise have been. 

2. THE IDEALISTIC SIGNIFICANCE OF THE HIGHER VIRTUES 

The foregoing will serve to suggest the meaning of the 
higher morality in general. We shall now see how this mean- 
ing appears in the more advanced aspects of the common vir- 
tues and the more conscientious interpretation of the common 
moral rules. 

First, the rule of honesty. In chapter vii it was pointed out 
that the aspect of convenience, which is clear enough in the 
more elementary grades of honesty, is completely overshadowed 
in the higher grades by the importance of honesty as a 
condition of social sympathy. To this it must now be added 
that the basis of social sympathy is mutual respect, — a belief on 
the part of each in the purity and disinterestedness of the 
other's motives ; for nothing creates so great a gulf between 
ourselves and others as the suspicion that they cannot be trusted 
to abstract from their selfish interests. This mutual respect 
includes evidently the condition of self-respect; and mutual 
honesty is an elementary condition of both. The rule of 
honesty is thus an expression of the Kantian principle command- 
ing a respect for rational beings as such. To see how clearly 
this is implied in the rule, we have only to note the implications 
conveyed in a breach of it. Among more cultivated men 
nothing is so deeply offensive as the imputation of dishonesty, 
and nothing is harder to forgive than to have been made the 
object of deceit. When I lie to my neighbour, I take him out 



248 IDEALISM 

of the category of rational beings ; I refuse to abide by the atti- 
tude he would take if he were in full possession of the facts, and 
I carefully prepare my information so as to produce a certain 
definite result. In other words, I play upon him and make him 
the subject of manipulation, as I should make use of a machine. 
There may be cases where I can justify my deceit, but it then 
means that I declare him unworthy of human consideration and 
fit only to be made use of, as far as I may have a use for him, 
and to be thrown away, like a worn-out garment, when he is no 
longer useful. And if I cannot justify my action, a similar im- 
plication is conveyed with regard to myself; it now means that 
I am not ready to put my actions to the test of criticism ; it thus 
contains the admission that they are the outcome of irrational 
impulses rather than of a judgment of value. In either case 
the act of deceit implies a denial of the distinctively rational 
quality of human nature. 

The idealistic motive may be seen, again, in the attitude of 
more cultivated persons toward the subject of marriage and of 
sexual relations generally. According to hedonism, the assump- 
tion of the marriage state and the choice of a wife are deter- 
mined by considerations of material well-being, which have 
reference partly to sexual gratification, but chiefly perhaps to 
the comforts and advantages of domestic life ; and the duty of 
observing determinate sexual relations is based mainly upon the 
advantage of maintaining the integrity of the family and home. 
But, important as these considerations are, they are over- 
shadowed in the minds of more cultivated men by other consider- 
ations felt to be more important. It is a very low order of man 
who would deliberately choose his wife for her sexual attrac- 
tiveness, and it is not a very high attitude which looks chiefly 
to her ' domestic ' qualities. To a really high-minded man, 
the wife represents more than these considerations of con- 
venience taken either singly or all together ; she is rather to be 
regarded as the most complete expression of his self, — the 
most unqualified realisation of his conception of ethical and 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 249 

spiritual worth. It is this attitude toward her which justifies 
the sexual relation, and which converts it from a gross form of 
indulgence into the most complete form of self-expression. And 
it is this view of the relation which chiefly accounts for the 
shame and distress that follow a rupture of marital relations, and 
which induces men and women to live together long after they 
have ceased to have any personal sympathy ; for to acknowl- 
edge that one's marriage is a failure is to acknowledge that one 
has been a creature of passion and impulse in the most im- 
portant decision of one's life. Such acknowledgment is the 
most complete confession of irresponsibility and lack of self- 
knowledge. 

And when we look at the other side of sexual relations — the 
immoral side — we find no better illustration of Kant's concep- 
tion of treating persons as means rather than as ends. In the 
act of prostitution the woman is very distinctly converted into 
a mere object of use. The situation of the man is not materi- 
ally different, for, to the woman, he is nothing more than a 
means of obtaining money. In the whole range of human con- 
duct there is no clearer instance of the situation where human 
beings deliberately make use of each other, and where each 
becomes to the other a mere bit of rubbish when the condition 
of usefulness is past. Among the many evils attending prostitu- 
tion, none is of such vital importance in the eyes of cultivated 
persons as this fact of social and spiritual degradation. 

Let us look next at the duty of self-preservation. It is 
probably fair to say (though the statement may be contested) 
that this duty acquires a greater imperativeness as men rise 
higher in the cultural scale. We lose, to be sure, some of our 
superstitious horror of suicide, but at the same time we gain an 
increasing sense of the responsibility imposed by the mere fact 
of life. Now hedonism, in its attempt to justify the importance 
attached by common sense to this duty, is obliged to assume 
that life under any circumstances must involve a balance of 
pleasure over pain, and that this balance increases with the ad- 



250 IDEALISM 

vance of culture. But there seems to be no point at which the 
hedonistic conception is more inadequate. So far as we can 
see, some men are temperamentally happy and contented, 
while others are unhappy and discontented, and their tem- 
perament has apparently little to do with their external cir- 
cumstances, nor does the situation differ now from what it has 
been at any time in the past. Hence, on the basis of happi- 
ness, self-preservation has no universal or general value ; to live 
or not to live is a question which, from a hedonistic stand- 
point, must be answered according to circumstances, and which 
should often be answered in the negative. If we are then to 
account for the practically absolute character which the rule of 
self-preservation holds in the code of common sense, it is nec- 
essary to assume that the motive which impels men to live as long 
as life may be preserved, and which becomes stronger as men 
rise in the evolutionary scale, is the expression, not of a demand 
for happiness, but of a demand for the continuance of life and 
the development of its possibilities under all circumstances and 
to the utmost degree. In other words, the duty of self-preserva- 
tion presupposes the absolute value of human life as such. 

In considering the special duties, we should note also the 
attitude of more cultivated men toward science, literature, and 
art. The duty of cultivating our capacities in these directions 
is hardly recognised in the lower stages of morality ; from the 
lower standpoints the arts and sciences are at best allowable 
luxuries. It is clear, however, that to a more enlightened con- 
science their cultivation becomes a positive duty. And here 
again, it seems, the obligation is not sufficiently accounted for 
by hedonism. For though we grant that development in any 
direction has the effect of rendering men more capable gener- 
ally, and hence more capable of dealing with material condi- 
tions, yet, if our object were material welfare only, it ought to 
be better attained by a more direct concentration upon the 
physical sciences than our common-sense conception of educa- 
tional values is willing to allow. 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 251 

It must be noted, also, that though we speak of aesthetic 
pleasure, yet the objects which have for us the highest beauty- 
are by no means those which give us the greatest pleasure ; 
rather should it be said that the appreciation of the highest 
beauty within our range involves always a certain strain upon 
our attention, while those objects whose beauty is thoroughly 
enjoyed fall always somewhat below the highest. It seems hope- 
less, therefore, to attempt to justify the importance attached 
to the arts and sciences by their conduciveness to happiness. 
Our estimation of them is never a question of happiness, but 
only of the strength and permanence — the universally human 
character — of the impulses which they represent. Now the 
impulses to know and to appreciate are among the most 
fundamental of our nature. Even the lower animals have an 
appreciation of beauty and show also a keen curiosity with 
regard to things that do not practically concern them, — 
in other words, a desire for knowledge for knowledge's 
sake. It thus appears that the tendencies which find their 
satisfaction in beauty and truth are among the most ancient in 
our nature. The history of the race shows that they are also 
among the most permanent and universal, claiming the attention 
of men whenever the elementary bodily needs are sufficiently 
provided for to admit of it, and demanding with every ad- 
vance of civilisation a constantly increasing measure of satis- 
faction. The activities of art and science are thus among 
the clearest cases of pure yet imperative self-expression, — in 
which satisfaction is felt to be vitally necessary, yet uncon- 
nected with considerations of material advantage. And the 
importance which they hold in the minds of more conscientious 
persons is one of the best evidences of the presence of the 
idealistic principle. 

3. IDEALISTIC ELEMENTS IN THE SOCIAL PROBLEM 

Further indications of the idealistic motive may be obtained 
from a consideration of the social problem and of the attitude; 



252 IDEALISM 

of modern times toward personal liberty. Upon first glance it 
may seem that in very recent times this attitude has been con- 
siderably modified, and that the desire for liberty which 
animated our forefathers of a century ago has now been sub- 
ordinated to the demand for a more practical good. A first 
view of the present social situation suggests that the difficulty 
is too much liberty. The doctrine of individual rights has now 
become a basis for monopolistic abuse ; it is owing to the 
system of free competition, unrestrained by governmental 
control, that men are able to corner the markets, to control 
the distribution of the necessities of life, and thus to further 
their private interests to the serious disadvantage of the com- 
munity. And there can be no doubt that at the present time 
nearly all thoughtful men are in favour of reforms which should 
render such abuses impossible. In view of this situation, a 
hedonist might argue that, when men are compelled to 
choose between liberty and material well-being, their pref- 
erence is unquestionably in favour of the latter and that, if 
they attach any importance to liberty, it is only so far as 
the recognition of liberty is on the whole industrially more 
advantageous. 

But upon further consideration it appears that the social 
problem is not altogether a question of material well-being. 
We cannot say that men as a whole are now more poorly 
supplied with the necessities than in the past. While the rich 
have grown richer, it is probably not true that the poor have 
grown poorer. In fact everything goes to show that, from a 
purely material standpoint, not only the rich but the poorest of 
the poor have profited by the organisation of industry. So far 
as the question of distribution is concerned the real grievance 
is not that the masses receive less than formerly, but that they 
fail to receive their just share of the increase which they have 
helped to bring about. But this is quite a different complaint 
from that of poverty. It now means, not that the rank and file 
of men are poorer, but that their personal efforts are not prop- 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 253 

erly recognised, — in other words, that their natural rights and 
liberties have suffered infringement. 

But the social problem is by no means confined to the 
question of distribution. A more vital though probably less 
obvious difficulty is presented by the conditions under which 
the work of production is done. The modern organisation of 
industry has a tendency to deprive the rank and file not merely 
of their just share of the returns but of a just share in the 
initiation and direction of the work of production. Where, 
under the older methods, every man was his own master, or 
might expect to become his own master, we now have a situa- 
tion in which the work of thousands is under the absolute 
dictation of a single master. And so far has this tendency 
developed that at the present time we may see practically the 
whole population of the most democratic nation in the world 
anxiously watching the movements of a small group of finan- 
ciers, if not those of a single man, in whom the organisation of 
industry has lodged the power to direct much of the productive 
work of country. In this condition of things there is certainly 
cause for alarm, for we have no security that the power will be 
used for good ; but probably there is less cause for alarm than 
for humiliation. Such concentration of power is in itself, apart 
from any use to be made of it, an offence against every self- 
respecting citizen. It is a total contradiction of the demo- 
cratic principle. 

Yet this is not the whole difficulty. Modern methods of 
industry, though representing on the whole a distinct advance 
in the intellectual conquest of material conditions, have had 
the effect of lowering the intellectual quality of the work done 
by the rank and file. Under the older conditions a good work- 
man had to be in some sense a man of brains, of skill, and of 
taste. The making of a shoe, for example, was a task which 
called for good judgment and some ability as an artist. But 
modern conditions have tended rather to reduce the workman 
to the status of a cog in a machine, which has no task laid upon 



254 IDEALISM 

it beyond the reiteration of a fixed movement for so many 
hours a day. Labour without intellectual stimulus soon becomes 
intolerable ; the continued absence of intellectual activity must 
result finally in degeneration. Probably it is this difficulty more 
than any other which lies at the ground of the social discontent. 

It is this also which renders the whole problem of social 
reform so perplexing. It is not enough to offer men greater 
opportunities for enjoying their leisure hours. For the more 
important side of a man's life is his work ; and this is, if any- 
thing, truer of the man who stands higher in the scale. Work is 
a condition of moral health. Not, however, the sort of work 
which chains the hands to a mechanical round of movements, 
leaving the mind vacant and unsatisfied, but the sort which 
calls for a harmonious coordination of all one's powers, — for 
bodily movement, for the exercise of skill and taste, of good 
judgment and of moral responsibility. An ideal social organisa- 
tion must clearly be such as to call all these powers into exercise 
on the part of every man. Yet at the same time the work 
must be efficient. For this reason it is impossible that we 
should go back to more primitive industrial methods. To make 
poor shoes by hand when better can be made by machinery is 
not merely a material loss but a logical absurdity — an irra- 
tional waste of capacities. And here, perhaps, we have a final 
statement of the social difficulties as these difficulties are felt by 
more intelligent and thoughtful men : the most serious problem 
is not to choose between material welfare and personal liberty, 
but to unite a full opportunity for the exercise of personal 
capacities with the conditions of their rational and economical 
use. 

When we recognise these elements in the social situation, it 
becomes clear that the demand for social reform, so far from 
being a repudiation of personal liberty, aims rather at a greater 
amount of liberty than we have yet known. This does not 
mean that none but idealistic elements are present in the 
situation, Even if the poor have not grown poorer, the diflfi- 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 255 

culties of subsistence, at any rate of a healthy form of subsist- 
ence, are still pressing and serious. But as men advance in 
culture the more personal and spiritual needs take a larger 
share of their attention. After satisfying the necessities of 
animal existence, they begin to insist upon living decently and 
in social relations which place them upon terms of equality 
with their fellows; these conditions fulfilled, they look still 
higher, and are not finally to be satisfied until every side of 
their nature finds expression in a complete and consistent sys- 
tem of self-chosen activity. There has probably never been 
a time when these higher personal needs were so widely felt 
as they are now, and when so many men felt the necessity 
of realising in their lives not merely a prosperous existence 
but a complete and well-rounded career. It is this far-reach- 
ing demand for self-realisation which constitutes the social 
problem ; if the great mass of men were as easily satisfied to- 
day as they have been in the past, if they were as content with 
mere comforts, as happy in the worship of social superiors, 
as naive in their admiration of wealth and power, the social 
problem would have no existence. The presence of the prob- 
lem means that they have outgrown their former selves and 
the conditions which used to satisfy them ; and what they 
now demand is not less liberty and greater material welfare, 
but a larger liberty adjusted to the larger demands for self- 
realisation. 

4. THE LIMITATIONS OF IDEALISM 

From the foregoing it appears that the higher developments 
of moral consciousness presuppose the idealistic theory; in 
chapter vii it was shown that the lower portions of the scale 
point rather to hedonistic theory. Looking then at the situa- 
tion as a whole, these appear to be the characteristics of the 
higher and lower phases respectively : at its more elementary 
stages life is relatively a process of conformity to environment ; 
at the more advanced stages it becomes a relatively independent 



256 IDEALISM 

effort to realise a life purpose. The same is true of the develop- 
ment of moral consciousness. In the elementary stages the 
moral problem is a problem of making a living ; in the more 
advanced stages it is the problem of a complete and consistent 
development of one's nature. 

We have now to raise the important question as to why we 
may not extend the application of idealistic theory to make 
it cover the moral scale as a whole. We have seen that the 
difficulty with regard to a similar application of hedonism lies 
in the fact that its standard of happiness is not sufficiently 
comprehensive to cover the whole content of life, or, stated 
in terms of self, its conception of the self to be preserved is 
not sufficiently comprehensive to cover the whole of the self 
that we wish to preserve. On the other hand, we have seen 
that the hedonistic theory is distinctly clear and practical. 
When we ask the hedonist for a concrete definition of self- 
preservation and happiness, he has his answer ready : health 
and material welfare. And when we ask him about the means 
of realising these ends, he can direct us at once to the natural 
sciences, in which the means of attaining health and material 
ends generally have been to a large extent worked out. And 
where science has failed to state the means we may, after so 
clear and specific a statement of the end, rely largely upon our 
common sense. In short, the hedonist tells us quite clearly 
and specifically what to aim at and how to set about it from 
the standpoint of our present situation. 1 

Now it is just here that the idealistic theory is wanting. 
Theoretically, there would appear to be no reason why we 
should not conceive of life as a whole, from its lowest to its 
highest stages, as a continuous, self-consistent process of self- 
realisation. But in order to apply this conception to the actual 
facts of life, we should require a concrete statement of the 
nature of the self, or purpose, supposed to be realised. And in 

1 For the contrary view of the practical value of hedonism see Green, Pro- 
legomena to Ethics, Book IV, ch. iii ; Taylor, The Probletn of Conduct, p. 347. 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 257 

idealistic ethics such a statement is generally missing. The 
idealist tells us that all the different phases of our life are related 
in an organic and purposive unity, but he fails to tell us what 
the purpose is or just how the different phases of life are uni- 
fied. We know that each of the several impulses of our nature 
has its place in the general economy of the self, that the more 
material desires for food, sex, for bodily activity and rest, have 
their place there as well as the more spiritual demands for 
beauty, knowledge, and personal sympathy ; and we know that 
the real self is to be found in a harmonious coordination of 
these several impulses. But we are not told in what a harmo- 
nious coordination consists. It is clearly not in a subordination 
of the spiritual to the material, nor yet in a universal subordina- 
tion of the material to the spiritual, since an undue neglect of 
material needs will retard the development of the spiritual 
nature itself. In the meantime the two are in practical con- 
flict, and we are not told how the conflict is to be adjusted. 

Failing to offer a concrete statement of the life purpose, the 
idealist fails also to state how it is to be realised under present 
conditions ; not being able to tell us what we ought to aim at, 
he is of course unable to tell us how we are to set about it. 
Accordingly, he finds it necessary to ignore the question of 
conditions, and even to assume that the life purpose is not 
conditioned at all. Nevertheless, the conditions are a funda- 
mental feature of the problem. Every activity looking toward 
the realisation of a purpose must take its start from a present 
point in space and time and from a condition already realised. 
It is only upon the basis of the present condition that the activ- 
ity can be carried a step farther. A mere resolve to attain a 
purpose will accomplish nothing. This must be supplemented 
by a study of the tools and materials with which we have to 
work. The painter has to deal with the properties of paint 
and canvas; the composer, with the possibilities of musical 
instruments. Every one, as a moral agent, has to deal with 
certain objective conditions, — with the economic structure of 
s 



258 IDEALISM 

the community in which he lives, with the geographical and 
climatic conditions, with public opinion, with the strength and 
capacity of his own body, and, for that matter, with his capacity 
for moral courage. These conditions have to be included in 
the definition of the end ; for, until they have been defined, 
it is not yet certain that the end can be attained, — in which 
case its attainment is certainly not to be regarded as a duty. 

A slavish conformity to conditions tends to convert morality 
into a mere animalism, but, on the other hand, a total disregard 
of conditions tends to convert it into a mere sentimentalism, — 
a morality of lofty motives and very inadequate results. Thus 
we see a man who is given to outbreaks of ill-temper content- 
ing himself with an expression of sorrow and a resolve to over- 
come his weakness, at the same time refusing to consider the 
possibility that these outbreaks are due to his physical condi- 
tions. They may be due to overwork, to late hours, or perhaps 
to an undue indulgence in stimulants. But if he really means 
to overcome the moral difficulty, his first task is to remove the 
unfavourable conditions. And in its extreme form the ideal- 
istic attitude may be even worse than sentimental. Relying 
upon the comfortable assumption that the conditions present 
no real difficulty, the idealist may take it for granted that the 
direction of ease and conformity to the existing state of things 
marks the path along which we are to find the true unity of 
self. Thus we find that the term * self-expression ' is often 
used to dignify the worst forms of animal indulgence. Of this 
sort, also, is the social sentimentalism which urges the labourer 
to rest satisfied with the dignity of performing a social function, 
and refuses to discuss the question as to whether he receives, 
in wages or in any other form, a due recognition of his services. 

To avoid the necessity of defining ways and means, the 
idealist makes a general claim that all the so-called external 
conditions are contained within the self. They indicate noth- 
ing more than absence of self-consciousness, and will therefore 
disappear when self-consciousness is attained. The argument 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 259 

has a rather extended metaphysical significance, and we shall 
not be able to give it a really adequate consideration. But it 
rests upon certain simple relations which have been already 
referred to. 1 Since the human environment has remained 
practically the same from the beginning of the race, it is 
claimed that human evolution has been due to the development 
of internal capacity rather than to the action of external forces. 
In other words, the control of conditions has come through the 
attainment of knowledge. And the attainment of knowledge 
with regard to external conditions is nothing more than the 
becoming conscious of our own capacities for action ; it is 
just to the extent that we know ourselves that we are able to 
deal with the external conditions. But knowing ourselves 
means above all things knowing what we want to do, what ideals 
we wish to realise. Ideals are the projection into the future of 
inherent capacities ; they indicate the direction in which our 
nature is growing, the ends which it is endeavouring to realise, 
and in which it would find a complete, harmonious, and effec- 
tive coordination of its several powers. Accordingly, when we 
find ourselves hindered in the attainment of our object, it is 
because we do not know exactly what our object is ; in other 
words, we are not completely self-conscious with regard to our 
desires and purposes. If a writer finds difficulty in expressing 
himself in language, it is because the thought that he wishes to 
express is not yet clear. If an inventor finds difficulty in con- 
structing a working model, it is because he is not yet quite clear 
with regard to the end which his device is meant to fulfil. And 
so, an idealist would say, the conditions with which we have to 
deal are not anything fixed and external, and therefore insuper- 
able, but simply the absence of a complete knowledge of our- 
selves. If the day labourer, or the settler in a wild region, who 
feels himself surrounded by prohibitive conditions, and thus 
condemned to a narrow and unsatisfactory form of existence, 
were completely self-conscious with regard to his desires and 

1 p. 243. 



260 IDEALISM 

his capacities, the conditions would be immediately overcome. 
And if society as a whole were completely conscious of the 
social needs, and of the social possibilities in the form of coop- 
eration, there would no longer be any conflict between self and 
environment ; the environment, as an external limiting condition, 
would no longer exist. 

Now there is no doubt a certain practical advantage to be 
derived from taking this view of the situation. At any rate the 
attainment of self-consciousness with regard to our purposes 
constitutes an important factor in the practical solution of the 
problem. And very often, when we once become aware of this 
aspect of the difficulty, the problem is as good as solved. This 
is particularly true of the problem of 'expression' in the 
narrower sense. We feel that we know what we mean but can- 
not find the proper form of expression, until, in the search for 
the form, it dawns upon us that our meaning was not really 
clear, — after which we are on the direct road to a solution. 
But we may be aware of the location of the difficulty and yet 
not be able to remove it. And certainly the mere assump- 
tion that the difficulty is in ourselves is not going to solve the 
life problem as a whole. For, granting that the conditions are 
all included in ourselves, and will therefore be removed with 
the attainment of self-consciousness, we have still to ask just 
how this self-consciousness is to be attained. The unskilled 
day labourer, for example, finds himself, in a matter of wages, 
at the mercy of the employers. The idealist tells him that, if he 
were fully aware of his own capacities, he could control his 
destinies. But how is he to attain this self-consciousness? And 
what is the first thing for him to do in his present situation ? 
To these questions of how and what, we obtain no satisfactory 
answer. We are told that the difficulty is in ourselves, and 
since it would seem that we ought to be able to control our- 
selves more readily than external conditions, we appear at first 
sight to have arrived at a solution. But a moment's reflection 
shows us that the problem of controlling ourselves, of mak- 



IDEALISM AND COMMON SENSE 261 

ing our thoughts and purposes clear, of seeing things in their 
true relations and appreciating them at their just value, is just 
as perplexing as the problem of controlling external conditions. 
We have then done very little more than to change the location 
of the problem. 

6. IDEALISM AND HEDONISM 

We may then summarise the advantages and the difficulties 
of the two theories as follows : The idealist offers certainly a 
more satisfactory account of the higher morality and of the 
point of view of more cultivated and conscientious men. This 
is a fact which must not be obscured by the foregoing criticism. 
We cannot say that because the idealistic theory is vague it is 
therefore without meaning. On the contrary, the idealistic 
expressions to the effect that we are rational beings and 
not mechanical objects, that our activity is conscious and pur- 
posive rather than purely mechanical, that it should be directed 
toward a full and harmonious realisation of our capacities rather 
than toward the satisfaction of sense, all awaken in us certain 
appreciations of truth and reality. And these appreciations 
furnish us with a moral motive and serve to an extent as a 
guide to our conduct. We are conscious to some degree of 
what self-realisation means, though we are unable to state it 
clearly ; and we are quite clear with regard to many of the 
things which it excludes. But upon the basis of these appreci- 
ations alone we cannot construct a scientific system of morality. 
For this purpose we require a clearer and more concrete state- 
ment, — ultimately a mathematical statement, both of ends and 
conditions, — such a statement, indeed, as is aimed at by hed- 
onism. Yet, when we turn to hedonism, we encounter a form 
of theory which is inadequate on the other side. It is rela- 
tively clear and concrete, but ignores a great part of that which 
our common sense judges to be of value, — and just that 
which we judge to have the highest value. It works fairly 
well for the lower portion of the moral scale, but fails to 



262 IDEALISM 

account for the values expressed in the upper portion. The 
difference between the two theories amounts, then, to this : 
idealism offers a more comprehensive conception of moral 
value, but fails to define its conception in concrete detail or 
to show its application to existing conditions ; hedonism offers 
a system of computation, which may be applied to existing 
conditions, but whose unit of value is inadequate for the com- 
putation of all the factors of the moral life. 



CHAPTER XV 

IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 
1. SELF-REALISATION AND DUTY 

In undertaking an evaluation of the idealistic theory of social 
relations, we find ourselves confronted by the difficulty of 
stating our problem in the form of a single concrete question. 
In chapter xii the idealistic conception of duty to one's 
neighbour was seen to be contained in the general command 
to treat all human beings (including self) as rational beings, 
and the various implications involved in this general principle 
were there shown in detail. But it is difficult to bring all the 
details together into a single explicit statement, or to state the 
problem in a single question which will immediately suggest all 
its various aspects. It will therefore be clearer and less awk- 
ward to distinguish the various aspects of the problem and 
to treat them somewhat separately, (a) The command to treat 
all men as rational beings involves, in the first place, as re- 
gards myself, the command to behave like a rational being, — 
which means that I am to behave like one who has a personal 
ideal to realise. The first question, then, is this : how far is 
self-realisation, regarded as the realisation of a personal ideal, 
consistent with duty, or with genuine social welfare ? (fr) Again, 
it means that I am to treat other persons as rational beings, 
i.e. as beings who are capable of appreciating the value of 
objects and who will act accordingly. Therefore, our second 
question is, How far does our duty admit of this attitude toward 
others? (c) It means, further, that to realise my personal 
ideal is at the same time to respect the personal ideals of 

263 



264 IDEALISM 

others. And this raises the third question, How far does self- 
respect, or faithfulness to my personal ideal, involve a similar 
respect for others? (d) Finally, we remember that the idealist 
sums up the whole matter of social duty in an impersonal regard 
for the strictly reasonable. How far, then, is the strictly im- 
personal attitude in accordance with duty ? These questions 
are of course not mutually exclusive, and it will not be possible 
to treat them as such ; they are distinguished merely for con- 
venience. 

All four questions may be answered with the statement that 
self-realisation and duty are identical to the extent that the 
relations between men are personal rather than commercial, — 
that is, to the extent that they rest upon common sympathies 
and appreciations rather than upon an organised standard of 
value. This formulation may be regarded as the social appli- 
cation of the generalisation reached in the last chapter, and 
must be considered in relation to the corresponding estimate 
of hedonistic theory, made in chapter viii, where it was 
shown that the validity of the hedonistic theory of social 
relations is limited mainly to the more elementary moral 
activities in which the relations of men are commercial and 
rest upon a relatively definite measure of value. Now the 
antithesis of commercial, or ' business,' relations is personal 
relations. The personal relations cover all those which arise 
between men when they leave the market-place and turn their 
attention to objects other than those involved in making a 
living. As such they are the relations which exist between 
men so far as they are engaged in cultivating the more human 
side of life, in which they may be regarded as men of culture 
and gentlemen. Every man, to the extent that the conditions 
of his existence leave room for the cultivation of personal sym- 
pathies, may be regarded as a man of culture and a gentleman. 
In 'a more cultivated man' we simply distinguish one who, 
for some reason, has reached a more complete development 
of his nature, and who, through a larger appreciation of the 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 265 

content and meaning of human life, is capable of a larger 
range of personal sympathy. This larger range of sympathy 
is what we have in mind when we speak of the higher culture 
as a ' broad ' culture, and of the pursuits of art and literature 
as a cultivation of the ' humanities.' All the social relations 
involved in the higher cultural activities may then be regarded 
as personal ; in so far as a man has reached a certain stage of 
culture he has established a basis of mutual appreciation be- 
tween himself and all others who have reached the same stage. 

{a) Self-respect and Duty 

This general principle may now be applied to the first of our 
special questions, to that, namely, which asks how far the 
realisation of personal ideals is consistent with duty. Stated 
more concretely, the question would be, How far is the satisfac- 
tion of a fine sense of honour a fulfilment of the demands of 
practical morality ? Now it seems clear that, as long as we con- 
fine our attention to the circle of personal relations, a fine 
sense of honour on the part of an individual is in every respect 
an advantage for all concerned. In that most intimate of per- 
sonal relations, the marriage relation, where the life of one 
person is so completely and so intricately interwoven with that 
of another, it is practically indispensable, both for the per- 
fection of personal sympathy and for the successful conduct 
of common material interests, that there should be the highest 
degree of mutual trust and confidence. And there can be no 
doubt that, in such relations, a high sense of honour on the 
part of one results in a similar attitude on the part of the 
other, while an attitude of suspicion on the one side creates 
for the other the temptation to adopt the same attitude. And 
we may say generally that where men come into intimate re- 
lations they are more ready to appreciate and to respect an 
attitude of strict honour, and that such an attitude on the part 
of one tends inevitably to beget a similar attitude, toward him- 



266 IDEALISM 

self at least, on the part of the other. Consequently a man 
with a fine sense of honour makes a better husband, father, 
and friend ; he is better not only for the more spiritual pur- 
poses of personal sympathy but for all the purposes of mutual 
assistance and cooperation. 

It is evident, however, that a man may carry a sense of 
honour too far, and so far, indeed, as to convert an attitude 
which is primarily highly ideal into one of selfish indulgence. 
Devotion to an ideal — and to a true and genuine ideal — may 
be carried to the extent of ignoring the more immediate and 
imperative aspects of his duty. It is very difficult to state the 
point at which such devotion ceases to be a duty, and hence 
very difficult to cite a case upon which all would agree. Let 
us, however, consider the following. All the professions — the- 
ology, medicine, art, education, and even law — have this in 
common, that they undertake to study and to state certain 
departments of truth. Strict duty would seem, then, to de- 
mand that a man be faithful at any cost to the truth as he sees 
it. But an absolute devotion to truth will be in some cases 
impossible. For, as a rule, men in the professions depend 
upon their fees or their salaries for their livelihood ; and. 
it is possible that one's views may be so far in advance 
of his generation, or of his immediate social environment, as 
to deprive him of recognition and ultimately of the means 
of livelihood. This is true to an extent of every more 
intelligent man engaged in a profession; somewhere he is 
obliged to compromise with his ideals if he is to secure, not 
comfort and luxury, but a mere livelihood. Now if he be 
the fortunate possessor of an independent income, he is 
relieved of the necessity of making concessions. But it is 
doubtful if he is relieved of the duty of making concessions. 
For of what value is a higher ideal standpoint if it secures no 
recognition ? You may say that truth is mighty and must pre- 
vail, but surely it will not prevail unless it be known, nor will it 
be known unless it be sufficiently within the grasp of men to 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 267 

secure their attention. What may be merely doubtful here 
seems no longer doubtful for a man who depends upon his sal- 
ary or fees for the support of his family. He has the right, 
of course, to expect from his family a certain sympathy, if not 
indeed a complete sympathy, with his ideals and a certain wil- 
lingness to make sacrifices for them ; but clearly there is a 
limit to which the welfare of family may be sacrificed to per- 
sonal ideals. In order to maintain my self-respect, to satisfy 
my sense of honour, to speak the truth as I see it, it may be 
necessary to deprive my children of the opportunity for a 
decent education or, possibly, of the necessities of life, while, 
on the other hand, this devotion to truth may be only faintly 
appreciated by my neighbours, and contribute very little to the 
real elevation of social standards. Surely there is a limit to 
which such sacrifices may be reconciled with a genuine moral- 
ity. Evidently there is a point at which the satisfaction of per- 
sonal ideals, however worthy in themselves, has ceased to be a 
duty and has become a mere selfish indulgence. 

Another illustration is to be found in the life of a business 
man. We have seen that, where values are fully known and 
human relations fully organised upon a commercial basis, a man 
is compelled by considerations of self-interest alone to give a 
just return for what he receives. But completeness of organisa- 
tion is true at best of only a limited field of commercial rela- 
tions. In many aspects of commercial life there is opportunity 
for the unscrupulous man to secure an undue advantage in 
dealing with others, while at the same time he who satisfies a 
high sense of honour will receive less than his due. 1 Now there 

1 Regarding all social conditions from the standpoint of organisation upon a 
commercial basis, it is convenient for purposes of concrete treatment to recognise 
three grades of organisation : (1) the highly organised conditions surrounding 
the rank and file ; (2) the semi-organised, covering the activity of the masters, 
or 'business men'; (3) the relatively unorganised, relating to the exchange* of 
personal services and sympathies. The demands of practical morality are 
covered in (1) by the hedonistic rule of self-interest, in (3) by the idealistic rule 
of self-respect, while both are to an extent applicable to (2). 



268 IDEALISM 

can be no doubt that to a certain extent the man who carries a 
high ideal of honour into his business relations will, though at 
some loss to himself, contribute to the welfare of his community. 
For every effort in this direction tends to raise the standard of 
commercial morals, and thus to facilitate the process of exchange 
and to further the well-being of men generally. But there is a 
point beyond which the sacrifice of self-interest required by a 
high standard of honour will be no longer effective, — beyond 
which one's attitude will be no longer appreciated and respected. 
And beyond this point a man will be operating at a heavy 
loss to himself without a corresponding gain to the commu- 
nity. In selling a house or a horse to a friend, a man who 
makes any claim to be a ' man of honour,' or a ' gentleman,' 
will be careful to inform his friend of his reasons for wishing to 
part with his property, or of any circumstances which could 
conceivably render the object in question an undesirable invest- 
ment. Such a transaction is spoken of as a ' friendly transac- 
tion between gentlemen.' But it would be impossible to carry 
this extent of friendliness into the daily conduct of business. In 
business the rule is, caveat emptor, let the buyer take care of him- 
self. It would be dishonest for me to misrepresent the goods I 
am offering for sale, but if I happen to possess private knowledge 
of circumstances which will reduce the future value of the goods 
offered, this knowledge is my legitimate gain, and it is the 
buyer's legitimate gain if he has good private ground for 
believing that the price will rise. The meaning of the rule is 
not absolutely definite, and even in business circles there is 
some doubt as to the nature and amount of the knowledge 
which a man may honestly keep to himself; and no doubt a 
right-minded man will interpret the rule as loosely as possible 
in favour of the higher rule observed in his more personal rela- 
tions. But the rule cannot be absolutely ignored. In busi- 
ness, as elsewhere, there are established usages and estab- 
lished rules of method, and these rules must be observed if we 
are to transact business at all. You cannot, in the long run, 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 269 

give better treatment than you may expect to receive in return. 
A merchant who should insist upon doing so would soon be 
bankrupt and deprived of further opportunity for business 
activity. He might then enjoy the satisfaction of personal 
rectitude, but as long as he refused to transact business upon 
terms that other men were willing to recognise, he could 
not be said to be contributing to the welfare of society, or in 
any genuine sense to be performing his duty. We must then 
admit it to be a fact that, however repulsive it be to a right- 
minded man to be other than a gentleman in any of his rela- 
tions with others, he cannot, without much qualification, carry 
the ideal of a gentleman into his business relations ; and since 
the activities of commerce and industry are vitally important 
for human welfare, we must admit that a man cannot do his 
share in the work of the world without to some extent sacrific- 
ing his personal ideals. 

The sense of honour maybe compared with the aesthetic senses, 
or with the lower senses of taste and smell. A man in whom 
these senses are finely developed will undoubtedly contribute 
to the welfare of those immediately about him. He will make 
the life of his family and of his friends more beautiful, more 
human, and ultimately more wholesome, and his ideals will have 
their due effect upon the condition of society generally. But 
there comes a point at which a fine taste, or at least an insist- 
ence upon its demands, will prove only a hindrance to useful 
activity. It is no doubt a good thing to keep one's hands clean, 
even using the phrase in its literal sense, and the higher type of 
man will have the stronger desire for clean hands. In his home 
and among his friends a man may keep his hands clean, and we 
may also insist upon it as a duty. We may further insist that 
he keep his hands as clean as possible in all his occupations. 
But clearly a man who does his share of the world's work cannot 
always have clean hands. And the same is true from the stand- 
point of an ideal personal morality. A man who insists upon an 
absolute satisfaction of his ideal must withdraw from the world 



270 IDEALISM 

and refuse to share its work ; if he does his part as a member 
of society he will be obliged to do some things which are mor- 
ally repulsive. 

(b) Duty and Respect for Others 

Our second question asks how far it is our duty to act upon the 
assumption of the rationality of others. I believe that we do not 
commonly appreciate the ethical importance of this assumption. 
We recognise, in a general way, that the parent or the teacher is 
more successful who understands his child's point of view, that the 
employer of labour is more successful who can see the situation 
from the labour standpoint, and that the man who is generally 
more open-minded and ready to consider all sides of a disputed 
question, is the man who is more likely to effect a just settle- 
ment. But we do not ordinarily appreciate the extent to which 
it is the absence of this attitude, and nothing else, which stands 
in the way of a proper adjustment of social relations. One rea- 
son for this is the fact that the maintenance of such an attitude 
is a rare and difficult accomplishment. For to treat men as 
rational beings is not merely to make an abstract assumption ; 
on the contrary, it involves the active repression of some of the 
strongest passions of our nature. When I find another resisting 
my wishes, the mere fact of resistance tends to arouse in me a 
passion to carry my point without regard to its right or wrong. 
And if the resistance continue, I may soon cease to think of the 
question of right and wrong, or, very likely, the heat of passion 
will itself bring about the illusion that, in fighting for my selfish 
interests, I am standing for divine right, and for a cause which 
is not merely my own but that of humanity as a whole. It is 
very difficult, in the heat of conflict, for a man to conceive it 
possible that his antagonist may also be acting under the convic- 
tion that he is fighting for the right, much less that he would be 
satisfied with a just settlement of the difficulty, provided it were 
effected on strictly reasonable grounds and without personal 
degradation. And yet, when one finds the courage and self- 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 271 

control to take this attitude toward another — to take it frankly 
and sincerely — he usually finds the other ready to meet him 
more than half way. Generally speaking, when we put the ideal- 
istic theory of the ultimate reasonableness of human nature to an 
experimental test, the confirmation is larger than we expect. It 
is very largely true that an attitude of confidence toward others 
tends to bring about a similar attitude toward ourselves, while 
an attitude of distrust tends to make men untrustworthy. 

It is evident, however, that there is a limit to which the adop- 
tion of this attitude is practically possible. Granting, with the 
idealist, that men are fundamentally rational and will respond 
ultimately to an unprejudiced statement of their duty, we have 
still to note that there are limits within which it is possible to 
make such a statement. If nothing else, there are limits of 
space and time. A parent who may wish to treat his child as a 
rational being, and who may be willing to take the trouble to ex- 
plain to him carefully the ground for that which he is bidden to 
do, will nevertheless meet with cases where there is no time for 
such explanation, and where, perhaps to save the child's life, 
it is necessary to issue peremptory commands and to enforce 
them, if necessary, with violence. So again, in our relations 
with men generally, we have to take into consideration the ex- 
tent of common understanding with which a transaction begins. 
We may perhaps concede that all men are ultimately in harmony, 
if we mean only that, given a sufficient period of close associa- 
tion, any two individuals may come to understand each other. 
But there are some pairs of individuals who would not learn to 
understand each other in an ordinary lifetime, while others may 
establish a complete sympathy in the shake of a hand. 

Hence, we may say that the advisability of treating others as 
rational beings will depend upon the extent to which those with 
whom we deal are intelligent and enlightened men, or upon the 
extent to which we are intimately associated with them. It is 
clear that a man ought to maintain this attitude toward his family 
and friends, and to carry it as far as possible into all his social 



272 IDEALISM 

relations. But somewhere among those with whom he is less 
intimately associated, there will be a point beyond which it will 
be his duty to limit his attitude of confidence, provisionally at 
least, and to be on his guard against possible aggression. For 
there are some men with whom it will be impossible to arrive 
at a common understanding, men who, apparently, have no 
regard for what is just but are bent only upon furthering their 
own advantage, and who will deliberately betray any confidence 
shown them. And there comes a point beyond which an atti- 
tude of confidence is not only ineffective in raising the moral 
standard of the community, but involves a neglect of immediate 
and imperative duties. A merchant who should trust every 
customer would shortly be bankrupt, and no longer capable of 
fulfilling either his duty to his children as father, or his duty to 
society as merchant. 

The same is true of international relations. In nearly all cases 
the intelligent and right-minded citizen will be on the side of 
peace ; he will not only discourage military pretension, but will 
prefer that his country should accept some disadvantages, and 
even insults, rather than disturb the peace. But clearly there 
is a limit to which duty will justify this attitude. Any one 
who assumes that military helplessness will be a sure protection 
against foreign aggression has his eyes closed to the facts. A 
nation which should maintain this ideal attitude in its complete- 
ness would surely invite foreign invasion ; and since the attack 
would probably be made by a nation of lower ideals and inferior 
civilisation, the result might be to retard the whole course of 
civilisation. This is exactly the situation in which the other 
nations of continental Europe find themselves to-day with 
regard to Russia. 

(c) Self-respect and Respect for Others 

In replying to our first two questions, it would seem that we 
had already given the answer to the third. But there remains a 
point demanding separate consideration. It is sometimes said 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 273 

that a man cannot respect himself without implying a corre- 
sponding disrespect for others, that the value even of a moral 
ideal depends upon the extent to which it creates an invidious 
distinction between those who hold it and those whose ideals 
are lower. In the more vulgar expressions of self-respect, 
where a man thinks it incumbent upon him as a gentleman to 
live in a certain neighbourhood, to wear a silk hat to church and 
a dress coat to dinner, it seems that the whole value of the 
object lies in the fact of invidious distinction ; for if all men 
could wear silk hats and dress coats, there would be no mean- 
ing in wearing them, and if all neighbourhoods were fashionable, 
none would be fashionable. It is then argued that the more 
refined forms of self-respect rest upon the same motive. A man 
may despise the vulgar distinction of fashionable neighbourhoods 
and silk hats ; he may prefer a quiet and unfashionable neigh- 
bourhood and a modest and unassuming dress. But now, it is 
said, he is only asserting a finer and more exclusive distinction ; 
he now claims a superiority not merely to the common, unfash- 
ionable crowd but to the fashionable crowd itself. The same 
is said of the man who adheres to a high standard of personal 
honour ; he finds his satisfaction in the fact that a rigid devotion 
to truth places him among the morally elite, and distinguishes 
him from the meaner spirits whose sense of honour is dull. 
If all men were equally devoted to the truth, a high sense of 
honour would have no value. Hence, it is argued, self-respect 
is in its very nature incompatible with a respect for humanity 
as such. 1 

The argument just stated assumes that where an object or 
form of activity confers a distinction, the distinction must be 
that which constitutes the motive. Apparently it takes no 
account of the fact that the possession of an object could not 
confer a distinction unless it were an object of superior intrinsic 
value, or, at any rate, that the distinction would not be valued 

1 The motive of ' invidious distinction ' has been exhaustively analysed in 
TheTheory of the Leisure Class, by Thorstein Veblen. 
T 



274 IDEALISM 

unless the object were conceived as such. For one who thinks 
only of constant change of fashions and the absurd and gro- 
tesque character of many of the forms of dress and behaviour 
which are set up as a badge of respectability, it is natural to 
assume that anything might serve this purpose, provided only 
that its possession were exclusive. But we have to remember 
that, from the standpoint of those who follow the fashions, how- 
ever it may be from the standpoint of the observer, all of these 
objects represent intrinsic value. They satisfy the requirements 
of aesthetic taste. The taste in question may be a mere whim 
of the moment, but nevertheless it is for the time being sincere. 
No one cares to distinguish himself by wearing a hat that is 
merely absurd, nor is it conceivable that extraordinary filth 
should ever become a basis of fashionable distinction. And 
the more persistent badges of respectability have always some 
real value. For example, we criticise the dress coat as unbe- 
coming and ugly, but we have to admit that, within our circle 
of possible garments, there is no other form of dress for men 
which is so conveniently expressive of freshness and cleanli- 
ness, and therefore no other which is so appropriate for formal 
wear. 

It is also important to remember that the possession of an 
object of high intrinsic value necessarily confers a distinction 
upon the possessor. For objects of the highest value are nec- 
essarily rare. And their high value lies not in their rarity (in 
which case the statement just made would be merely tautolog- 
ical), but in the extent to which they represent an adaptation 
of means to ends. In the situation as we have it, where de- 
mands are unlimited and conditions inadequate, it follows that 
the conditions which most nearly meet the demands will be 
generally the rarest. The perfectly fitting coats, as well as the 
most beautiful diamonds, will be the fewest. And so of the 
sense of honour. The more exacting its demands, the fewer 
will be those who will be able to satisfy them. It will thus 
necessarily follow that one who sets his standard of honour 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 275 

high, will create a relatively exclusive and relatively invidious 
distinction between himself and others. Since, however, the 
demand for distinction and the demand for intrinsic values lead 
largely to the same external attitude, it remains at least an open 
question as to how far the motive is contained in one or the 
other. 

Referring the question to experience, it seems that the 
motive is one or the other — invidious or disinterested — to 
the extent that men stand lower or higher in the scale of cul- 
ture and intelligence, or to the extent that the other persons 
who are supposed to be unfavourably distinguished by our 
conduct stand in remote or intimate relations to us. The 
last clause of the statement may be dismissed with the obser- 
vation that even those who claim that our motive is that of 
creating an invidious distinction will admit that our chief mo- 
tive is to distinguish ourselves from a lower class, not from our 
own and presumably higher class. Turning to the first clause, 
we may begin by admitting that invidious motives enter very 
largely into our activity. One who studies the manners and 
customs of fashionable life cannot fail to note a large element 
of social rivalry (though he must not suppose that fashionable 
life is peculiar in this respect) . If he turn from the fashionable 
to a higher class of more truly intelligent and cultivated per- 
sons, he will find that, while in this class the social rivalries 
of the fashionable are condemned as vulgar, and while to a 
really cultivated person the thought of entering a contest for 
social or other honours is clearly repulsive, yet there will be very 
few who will not, in the privacy of their own thought, congratu- 
late themselves upon their superiority to those who stoop to such 
a contest. And probably there is no one so disinterestedly 
devoted to high ideals or so sincerely contemptuous of indi- 
vidual and invidious distinctions, that he does not find in the 
thought of the latter some added stimulus to the realisation of 
his ideals. Nevertheless, it seems clear that, as we go upward 
in the cultural scale, the love of individual distinction becomes 



276 IDEALISM 

a constantly diminishing quantity. Admitting that there are 
few persons who do not derive some satisfaction from a sense 
of superiority to others, we must still observe that, as we ap- 
proach those of the highest culture, we find increasing numbers 
who despise this form of self-satisfaction, and who despise 
themselves whenever they are conscious of yielding to the 
temptation. And it is not without significance that, even in 
fashionable life, the fact of social rivalry is at least concealed 
under the external form of sympathy ; for these social forms, 
however empty they may often be in practice, are at any rate 
indicative of the direction of our ideals. And when we have 
the good fortune to meet with a really chivalrous character, in 
whom our conception of a gentleman is finally realised, it is in 
him that we find the most sincerely generous attitude toward 
all his fellows. Indeed, it may be said that while in practice 
the conception of a gentleman necessarily implies an invidious 
distinction, the realisation of the ideal is possible only for one 
who has gone so far beyond the distinction as to be no longer 
troubled by it. 

(d) Respect for Private Interests 

It remains only to transpose the foregoing into the point of 
view of our fourth and last question : how far is the strictly 
impersonal attitude in accordance with duty? It will hardly be 
doubted that the impersonal is ideally the higher and more 
dignified attitude. Certainly it is the nobler mind that can 
forget the narrower considerations of reputation and profit, and 
think only of the broader ends of humanity ; and though there 
seems at first sight to be a certain virtue in respecting the sen- 
sibilities and private needs of others, yet upon reflection it 
becomes clear that the necessity for such concessions involves 
on both sides a certain loss of moral dignity. But when we 
attempt to put the impersonal attitude into practice we find, 
here as before, that it is practicable only to the extent that 
there is a basis of common sympathy. Under normal condi- 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 277 

tions, it will work well enough within the family and home ; 
we meet many cases of family life where each one fully identi- 
fies the family interests with his own, where the apportionment 
of duties and responsibilities fulfils the conditions of maximum 
efficiency alone, and where the question of meum and tuum 
is never raised. But when the activity calls for cooperation 
within a larger group, we find that, except as the group is 
composed of the more enlightened and broad-minded, private 
interests are everywhere more or less in evidence. It seems 
impossible to cooperate, even for a distinctly disinterested end, 
such as public charity or social reform, without having the re- 
sults modified and delayed by the claims of private interests. 
One man wishes his judgment to be accepted as final, another 
wishes his name prominently mentioned, a third has business 
interests to be guarded or religious prejudices to be satisfied, 
while a fourth may hope to make money out of it. And where 
the object in question is a public measure of national concern, 
we find the attitude of men and parties determined largely by 
the interests of their own state or city, — except, indeed, at the 
time of some great sorrow or calamity, when, for the moment, 
the thought of local interest is lost in a feeling of common 
brotherhood. 

It is to be remembered, however, that, under existing con- 
ditions, the demands of private interest may have a legitimate 
moral basis. Unless our duty is based in some sense upon self- 
interest, the notion of obligation rests upon the air. 1 Nor is 
this consideration ignored by idealism; the idealistic theory 
assumes that the social interests will be found to be identical 
with those of the larger and truer self. Now from an ideal 
standpoint, we may perhaps despise the man whose self-interest 
takes the narrower form of private profit ; but before making 
our estimate final, we must consider the attitude of those with 
whom he has to deal. So far as my neighbours show a disposi- 
tion to take an impersonal view of their social duties, there is 
1 See p. 150. 



278 IDEALISM 

no excuse for my own attitude being any less so ; for that mat- 
ter, from the standpoint of a really positive morality, I should 
endeavour to make it always more so. But when I have to deal 
with others whose point of view does not extend beyond their 
selfish interests — or, when one locality deals with others whose 
tone and temper is obstinately selfish — the completely imper- 
sonal attitude becomes of itself unreasonable. To stand by it 
is not to realise a larger self, but completely to abnegate any 
self whatever. 

It is evident, then, that under existing conditions, duty will 
demand some respect for private interests. In some cases 
these private claims will be recognised as legitimate, in others 
as wholly illegitimate. But even the latter will often require 
consideration. However unworthy these petty interests may 
appear to a more generous man, it will be his duty to give them 
more or less consideration, and to modify the ends regarded as 
desirable in order to meet the conditions of cooperation. In 
other words, unless he be willing to withdraw from the world 
and to take the attitude of a mere spectator, he will find it 
necessary to be to some extent ' diplomatic,' — to show respect 
for claims which appear to him contemptible and for sensi- 
bilities which seem puerile, and to sacrifice the impersonally 
desirable in their favour. 

Looking at the idealistic social theory as a whole, we may say 
that the extent of its validity as a theory of conduct depends 
upon the actual range of common sympathies, — upon the extent 
to which men partake of the same point of view. Now the 
extent of common understanding rests upon two conditions : 
the external condition of propinquity and the internal condition 
of an equal degree of culture. Looking at society externally, 
we find men separated geographically into groups. And the 
geographical groupings represent to some extent the groupings 
according to sympathies. It is inevitable that, in general, men 
bred under the same external conditions, facing the same prob- 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 279 

lems, and coming, moreover, largely from the same parent stock, 
should have a better understanding of each other than those 
bred under different conditions. And therefore it will follow 
that, other things equal, men of the same community will be 
able to repose a superior confidence in each other, and will 
also have a superior claim upon each other ; and it will be 
possible to treat each other as men and brothers — as rational 
beings — where, with outsiders, it will be necessary to be on 
one's guard. But the geographical classification is not final. 
It is crossed by the classification of men according to their 
degree of culture ; and, though the geographical conditions 
have been mainly instrumental in determining individual 
sympathies in the past, and still determine them very largely, 
yet, owing to the constantly increasing ease of communication, 
they are more and more giving way to the cultural conditions, 
rendering even the national lines of less importance than the 
community of taste and occupation. It follows, then, that men 
of the same grade of culture will, without regard to national 
distinctions, have a better mutual understanding than men of 
different grades, and at the same time a correspondingly 
stronger claim upon each other. If, now, we suppose all these 
distinctions removed, and men to be no longer divided, either 
geographically by distance or culturally by different degrees of 
taste and intelligence, we reach a condition of perfect and 
complete mutual understanding, in which the idealistic theory 
of our duty to our fellowmen becomes absolutely and univer- 
sally valid. But until these conditions are reached — if ever 
they are — its validity can only be relative. And in the mean- 
time the situation stands — to put it bluntly — as follows : To 
deceive a fellow-man, or to make a tool of him, is under any 
circumstances repulsive ; but there are cases where one must 
do so, and where it would be a breach of duty to do otherwise. 
But, granting it to be in some cases justifiable, it is less justifi- 
able toward a friend than a stranger, toward a man of honour 
than a rascal. 



28o IDEALISM 



2. THE CONDITIONS OF AN IDEALISTIC SOCIETY 

The complete validity of the idealistic ethical theory presup- 
poses a completely idealistic society. Now an idealistic society, 
in the full sense, would be one in which all the relations between 
men were purely personal, in which all social relations were ad- 
justed upon the basis of common sympathies rather than upon 
the basis of exchange ; and this would be equivalent to a com- 
munity composed entirely of gentlemen and men of culture as 
distinct from business men. To a certain extent the condi- 
tions necessary for the existence of such a society are realised 
in the present social order ; and to a certain extent, also, where 
the conditions prevail, the ideal is realised. At first sight we 
are disposed to resist the conclusion that the possession of an 
independent income confers a moral advantage ; and we very 
commonly take the opposite conclusion for granted and assume 
that wealth necessarily leads to selfishness and immorality. 
But here we are influenced rather by an ideal conception of 
what things ought to be than by an impartial consideration of 
what things are ; we feel that, at any rate, it ought not to be 
true that a man should derive an advantage in the development 
of his moral character from an accidental circumstance, such 
as the possession of wealth, or that those who bear the heavier 
burdens should find their burdens a moral disadvantage. Now 
it is true that in many cases wealth is used merely as a 
means for escaping the usual penalties of immoral conduct, 
and thus as an opportunity for a greater extent of immoral 
indulgence. No doubt the prominence given to scandals in 
' high life ' causes us to forget the number of similar scandals 
in the conventionally ' lower ' life ; and yet it is safe to say that 
the proportion of such scandals, involving often an insensibility 
to the most elementary and imperative of moral obligations, is 
greater among those who live at ease than within the great 
class of plain, hard-working people. This is the natural re- 
sult of a life controlled neither by high ideals nor by ordinary 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 281 

penalties. But where the possessor of wealth is a man of high 
ideals, the result is very different; and we find under these 
conditions a development of the idealistic social virtues — 
honour, generosity, a broad human sympathy, and a respect for 
the rights of others — which is hardly to be found under other 
conditions. It is not meant that these virtues are always im- 
possible under less favourable conditions ; for they are some- 
times most conspicuous where the conditions are most difficult. 
But their very conspicuousness shows that under the less favour- 
able conditions they are not to be generally expected. It is 
useless to deny that poverty does not breed sympathy. A con- 
stant pressure of material wants tends generally to make a man's 
life sordid, to render his point of view narrow and selfish, to 
dull his appreciation of the more ideal requirements of honour 
and generosity. For the development of these higher virtues 
it is necessary, generally speaking, that the provision for the 
animal necessities should be to an extent secure ; and for 
their highest development it is necessary that their provision 
should be so far secure as to enable a man to banish to the 
background of his thought the vexing commercial question of 
meum and tuum. Thus it happens that most of the noblest ex- 
pressions of human ideals, as exhibited in our English litera- 
ture and thought, and many of the most ideal types of human 
lives, have come from a distinctively leisure class. Our notion 
of their merit, or desert, may be modified by a consideration of 
the favourable conditions under which these lives have been 
lived, but this need not blind us to their intrinsic value from an 
ideal standpoint. 

3. THE LIMITATIONS OF THE IDEALISTIC SOCIAL THEORY 

This will enable us to locate the point of difficulty in the ideal- 
istic theory of society. It is clear that the society in which we 
live is not an idealistic society. And when we ask why not, we 
find that the ground lies in our physical nature and material 



282 IDEALISM 

necessities. 1 It has just been suggested that material wants 
are unfavourable to the development of generosity and sym- 
pathy. We may go further and say that, where the supply of 
material necessities is unequal to the demand, a complete har- 
mony of individual interests is meaningless and absurd. For 
the individual is, after all, whatever else he may be, a physical 
individual, and his individual interests necessarily include his 
physical interests. But where there is not enough to satisfy 
the physical needs of all persons, it follows that some persons 
will be satisfied at the expense of others. Accordingly, a 
regard for his own well-being will compel each to act in 
such a manner as to make sure that he is not one of those 
to be left out in the general distribution, and consequently 
to make sure that a certain measure of deprivation falls to the 
lot of another. Now this is where we stand in our present situ- 
ation. Roughly speaking, there is never enough food to go 
around, or, at any rate, not enough of the sort to keep every one 
in a state of reasonably good health. And the provision for 
the other necessities is similarly insufficient. Under these 
conditions it becomes meaningless to say that the interests 
of all are completely identical. The best possible solution 
of the social problem must be to an extent a compromise, — 
an arrangement by which each agrees to sacrifice a certain 
extent of his claims in return for a similar sacrifice on the part 
of others, — an arrangement, it must be noted, which is very 
different from a complete acceptance of the interests of others 
as identical with our own. In brief, then, the fact that we are 
physical beings, with an incomplete supply of physical necessi- 
ties, renders our society to some extent a hedonistic, commer- 
cial society, in which the relations of men are necessarily 

1 For example, the aristocratic circles of ancient Greece, through whom 
mainly the culture of Greece has come to us, may properly be said to have 
constituted in themselves an idealistic society, since the material necessities 
were provided by slave labour; and it was to this fact, no doubt, that the 
culture of Greece owed its existence. 



SOCIAL THEORY AND COMMON SENSE 283 

relations of exchange, and to which the idealistic conception 
of a community of interests is inapplicable. 

The idealist meets this difficulty with the claim that the 
insufficiency of the supply of material necessities is purely 
illusory. In reality, he tells us, there is plenty for all. The 
difficulty is not in the source of supply, but in the failure of 
men to make an economical use of the material. This failure 
is a failure to cooperate intelligently and effectively. And the 
failure to cooperate is ultimately a failure to arrive at a com- 
plete mutual sympathy and understanding. He points to the 
modern organisation of industry as an illustration of what is 
accomplished when large bodies of men work together for the 
attainment of a single purpose. It may be stated roughly that 
the results of cooperation increase in a geometrical ratio where 
the ratio of increase in the numbers engaged is merely arith- 
metical. And it is not too much to say that, if men as a whole 
were acting in complete and harmonious cooperation, no human 
desire would remain unsatisfied. If, then (he holds), there is a 
scarcity of material necessities, it is because we do not com- 
pletely appreciate the identity of our interests ; it is because 
our attitude toward each other is an attitude of suspicion. If 
we once accept the theory of identical interests as a working 
hypothesis, and endeavour fully to understand each other and 
to cooperate for our common ends, we shall find the conception 
of harmony converted, as the result of our cooperation, into a 
realised fact. 

Just here we arrive at the point of difficulty. We may easily 
assent to the general affirmation of a harmony of interests. 
Indeed, it is in some sense self-evident. But the question is, 
In what does the harmony consist ? What are we all work- 
ing for, and just how are our individual interests related to 
each other? And then there is the practical question : where 
are we to begin? And what is ?ny duty as a particular individ- 
ual in this particular situation ? To these questions the idealis- 
tic theory furnishes no answer. The difficulty in the idealistic 



284 IDEALISM 

social theory is thus the same that we have found in the ideal- 
istic theory generally. It fails to state our duty in terms that 
may be applied to our particular situation. In other words, 
it fails to work out its principle into a system of fact and detail. 
It tells us that society is an organism of which each individual 
is a function, and that, in consequence, the welfare of the 
organism as a whole requires the welfare of each individual, 
while, conversely, the welfare of each demands the welfare of the 
whole. But it fails, in the first place, to state the nature of 
the purpose which constitutes the organic unity, and in the sec- 
ond place to state how the several functions are to cooperate for 
the attainment of the purpose. As a result, it offers a concep- 
tion of society which is relatively obscure from the standpoint of 
theory and relatively unworkable from the standpoint of practice. 
To state the relations between the alternative social theories 
is then simply to repeat, with reference to social relations, the 
general statement made at the close of our last chapter. The 
idealistic theory offers a more comprehensive statement of our 
relations to each other, and one which more adequately 
accounts for their higher aspects as seen in the more personal 
relations, — that is, in all relations between men so far as they 
stand higher in the cultural scale. But its statement is not 
clear and concrete. Now a really clear statement would be a 
mathematical computation of social relations expressed in terms 
of self-interest ; and a basis of computation is proposed by 
hedonism. But, as we have seen, its conception of self, and of 
self-interest, fails to account for the breadth and complexity of 
the self to be defined ; and its computation of social relations, 
while applicable to the simpler commercial relations, becomes 
inadequate when applied to the more complex and personal. 
Idealism offers, then, a relatively comprehensive but vague con- 
ception of the self and of social relations, hedonism a clear but 
relatively narrow conception. 



PART III 

HEDONISM AND IDEALISM: THE MORAL 
SITUATION 



CHAPTER XVI 
THE SITUATION FROM A METAPHYSICAL STANDPOINT 

1. THE NECESSITY FOR A COORDINATION OF THEORY 

Having completed our analysis and criticism of ethical 
theory, we have now to attempt a coordination of the alterna- 
tive views from some common standpoint. It will be remem- 
bered that we began, in chapter ii, with an outline statement 
of the ethical problem, showing that there appears to be a con- 
tradiction between moral ideals and the conditions of prac- 
tical attainment, and showing further that an emphasis laid 
upon the side of ideals or of conditions gives rise respectively 
to the theories of idealism and hedonism. Our analysis of the 
two theories has shown them to be the expressions of funda- 
mentally opposite ways of looking at things, — of fundament- 
ally opposite temperaments and systems of philosophy; and 
our criticism has shown that while each has a certain range 
of application, neither is able to fulfil all the requirements of 
an ethical and psychological system. So far, then, we have 
seen no possibility of combining the two theories in a single 
systematic point of view. It is impossible, however, that our 
thought should rest in the mere contemplation of differences 
and contradictions, — impossible both from a theoretical and 
from a practical standpoint. From a theoretical standpoint we 
are compelled by a necessity of our thought to assume that our 
world is ultimately a unity. It is inconceivable that there be 
two distinct and unrelated worlds, such as an ideal world and 
a material world; we are compelled to assume either that 
one of them is a fiction or that they are not wholly unrelated. 

287 



288 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

And, from a practical standpoint, we find ourselves in the 
presence of a necessity for immediate action, and, hence, in 
need of a decided plan of action. We cannot stop at the 
mere contemplation of a contradiction ; we must find some 
way of dealing with it. 

Now a complete solution of the ethical problem is, accord- 
ing to my view, quite out of the question. We cannot fit the 
different sides of the problem together, term for term, and detail 
for detail, in such a manner as to form a completely articulated 
system. Nor can we even, in any completely adequate man- 
ner, define a method for putting them together. And in the 
absence of a detailed and articulated system it is a mere 
empty statement to say, with popular philosophy, that the two 
sides of the problem are but ' the two sides of the shield,' or, 
with Fechner, that they are related as convex to concave, and 
hence necessarily harmonious. So far as we believe that each 
represents an aspect of reality (which is the view taken here), 
such harmony is assumed as a postulate of our thought. But 
for this very reason it means nothing to repeat it. The asser- 
tion of harmony conveys no information except as we can take 
up the apparently conflicting aspects of reality and join them 
together in concrete detail. 

But in the absence of a completely consistent system, and of 
a completely satisfactory solution of the moral problem, we 
may still, I believe, through a critical adjustment of the claims 
of the alternative theories, construct a reasonably satisfactory 
working hypothesis, such as will enable us to define our general 
attitude toward the different elements in the moral situation. 
It is such an adjustment that I have in mind in the remaining 
four chapters, — a working hypothesis rather than a final solu- 
tion, — a critical adjustment of the opposing theories, such as 
will enable us to take a practical attitude toward the aspects of 
life which they severally represent, without closing our eyes to 
the fact that we are not yet able to unite these aspects in all 
their concrete detail. 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 289 

We shall begin, in the present chapter, with an analysis of 
the moral situation from a metaphysical standpoint. The 
' moral situation ' includes, of course, the relations of the con- 
flicting theories and of the factors in the moral problem which 
they severally represent. And by ' metaphysical ' analysis is 
meant an analysis of the fundamental conceptions underlying 
the two points of view, regarded as bare conceptions, i.e. con- 
sidered apart from the possibility of their concrete application 
to the world of fact and experience. To appreciate the signifi- 
cance of the metaphysical analysis it will afterwards be neces- 
sary to call attention to a comparison of its results with those 
obtained when the concrete application is made. 

2. THE ULTIMATELY COMPLEMENTARY CHARACTER OF THE 
OPPOSING CONCEPTIONS 

The first point that requires notice is the complementary 
character of the conceptions underlying the alternative theories, 
when carried to their ultimate conclusion, — in other words, the 
ultimate consistency of the two theories, when viewed from a 
metaphysical standpoint. 

It will be remembered that hedonism was described as a 
clear but incomplete view, idealism as a more comprehensive 
but relatively obscure view. Though the hedonist offers a 
clear view of human nature, he maintains the quality of clear- 
ness by ignoring, or, at any rate, minimising, its more complex 
features. The idealistic view then involves less of an abstrac- 
tion from the concrete life experience, but fails in turn to 
reduce this experience to a concrete basis of fact and detail. 
Now there is no essential contradiction between clearness and 
comprehensiveness. It may be practically difficult to unite the 
two qualities in our concrete thought, but this does not mean 
that the two qualities are essentially incompatible. It is quite 
conceivable that, with a larger range and capacity for thought, 
we might attain a view of human nature, and of moral conduct, 
which would possess at once the clearness of the hedonistic 
u 



290 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

view and the comprehensiveness of idealism. And in this 
larger view we might expect to obtain a reconciliation of their 
mutual contradictions. Now this a priori possibility of rec- 
onciliation is confirmed, as I shall endeavour to show, by an 
analysis of the opposing conceptions and an endeavour to 
conceive of each as making good its deficiencies as a basis of 
concrete description. When we attempt to make hedonistic 
conceptions comprehensive, we find that they acquire an ideal- 
istic meaning or, at any rate, if not a perfectly clear meaning, 
an idealistic flavour ; and when we attempt to make idealistic 
conceptions clear, they acquire in a similar manner a hedonistic 
meaning. 

(a) Mechanism and Consciousness 

The general opposition between hedonism and idealism 
rests, as we have seen, upon the fundamental distinction be- 
tween mechanical and conscious action. For hedonism the 
human being is a machine, — a highly complex machine, to be 
sure, but still a machine ; for idealism he is a conscious per- 
sonality, acting always with a purpose in view. All the detailed 
differences in the two theories may be traced ultimately to this 
difference in their view of human nature. 

The practical difference between mechanical and purposive 
action appears to be as follows : a purposive action is one 
which maintains a consistent form of activity throughout a 
great variety of conditions, — which has, therefore, a rela- 
tively wide range of readjustment to changing circumstances ; 
a mechanical action is one with a relatively limited range of 
adjustment, whose character is, therefore, relatively speaking, 
determined by its circumstances. The distinction is thus, 
from an empirical standpoint, a question of the extent to 
which the activity is self-adjustable. It is not a question of 
the absolute presence or absence of adjustment. The steam 
engine, for example, is to a degree self- adjustable, inasmuch as 
the slide-valve adjusts its movements to the position of the 
piston plate ; and it becomes self-adjustable to a wider extent 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 291 

when it is fitted with a governor. But no machine that we 
are able to construct, or even to imagine, approaches, in the 
range of its adjustability, that of the most unintelligent animal. 
Every machine has to be ' fed ' — the steam engine with fuel, 
the printing-press with paper and ink — and when the ' food ' 
is no longer supplied by an external agency, the machine 
ceases to work. The animal, on the other hand, and especially 
the human being, finds food for himself; and where the food 
substance is not already prepared, man, at any rate, is able to 
prepare it, adapting to this purpose a great variety of apparently 
innutritious substances. 

Now if we conceive the range of activity of any machine to 
be sufficiently extended to equal that of a human being, we shall 
necessarily think of that machine as conscious. In other 
words, if we make our mechanical conception sufficiently com- 
prehensive to cover the complexity of human nature, it will 
be no longer purely mechanical. That there should be a 
machine with this range of activity is quite conceivable. It is 
clear that the conception involves no contradiction. We al- 
ready construct machines with a certain degree of adjustability, 
and the degree of adjustability is being constantly extended. 
There is no contradiction in supposing that it may be indefi- 
nitely extended, though of course, beyond a certain point, we 
cease to have any clear picture of what such a machine would 
be. Let us suppose, then, that we had a steam engine which 
could not only adjust its slide-valve to the position of the piston 
plate, and not only adjust the throttle to the variations in speed, 
but could mine its own coal, or could deal with the commercial 
conditions under which coal were to be obtained, giving a fitting 
expression to its wants and a fitting response to the existing 
state of the market. Though technically unimaginable, none of 
this is mechanically absurd. Yet it is clear that we should be 
obliged to regard such a machine as endowed with life and 
consciousness. The range of its capacity for self-adjustment 
would of itself constitute consciousness. 



292 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

In this interpretation we at once encounter the objection that 
complexity of structure and range of adjustability have nothing 
whatever to do with the presence or absence of consciousness. 
Mechanism and consciousness, it will be said, are absolute 
differences of kind. Either may be thought of in all degrees 
of simplicity and complexity. But let your machine be never 
so complex, it is still nothing but a machine, and consciousness 
never so simple is still consciousness. Man may himself be con- 
ceived as an automaton. There is no absurdity in supposing 
that his action is the result of purely mechanical forces and of a 
purely mechanical structure, provided only the structure be 
conceived as sufficiently complex. Here, it is argued, we 
have a conception of a highly complex mechanism, yet so far 
are we from associating complexity with consciousness that in 
the term ' automaton ' the latter is distinctly implied to be 
absent. 

This, it seems to me, is the crucial point of the argument. 
Can we really conceive of man as an unconscious automaton? 
Now of course we not only can, but apparently we are compelled 
to dissociate consciousness and mechanism, if by the latter we 
mean the common machines. For the most complex machines 
constructed are nothing but various combinations of a few sim- 
ple elementary forms, such as wheels, levers, cranks, and the 
like ; and capacity for thought seems incompatible with a struc- 
ture so simple. Evidently it is still this simple form of structure 
that we have in mind when we conceive the human being to be 
an unconscious automaton. I do not mean that we definitely 
imagine him to be a combination of wheels and levers, etc., but 
merely that we couple the common notion of machine with a 
vague notion of ' more complex,' without definitely formulating 
to ourselves just what structural differences a greater com- 
plexity would involve, and what effect these structural differences 
would have upon our interpretation of his activity. When we 
take these structural modifications into account we find, as it 
seems to me, not only that we can conceive a mechanical 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 293 

object to think, but that it becomes inconceivable that a 
mechanical object of so high a degree of complexity should 
not think. 

It is very important to remember that a machine of the 
human degree of complexity would no longer be a thing of 
simple wheels and levers. And, for that matter, it must be 
noted that when we add a degree of complexity to a machine 
of the ordinary sort we do not merely add an extra wheel or 
so. On the contrary, every new degree of adaptability requires 
usually an increased adaptability in all the parts ; for each new 
requirement we have to reconstruct the whole machine, modi- 
fying each part and increasing its complexity, so as to make it 
respond to the new as well as to the old requirements. Con- 
sequently, as a machine becomes more complex as a whole, 
and more adaptable to varying conditions, it becomes also 
more complex and adaptable — in other words, more sensitive — 
in its individual parts. Suppose, then, that we have a machine 
with the range of adaptability found in the human being. It is 
clear that we have now far exceeded the possibilities of wheels 
and levers. The structure of such a machine, it is necessary 
to assume, would be as complex as that of the human being 
himself; and each part would be as complex as the individual 
nerve or muscle, — whose structure, it need not be said, we are 
still unable to conceive clearly. Now granting that it is diffi- 
cult to attribute consciousness to a creature of wheels and levers, 
it is at the same time difficult to avoid attributing consciousness 
to a creature whose structure has reached the physiological stage 
of complexity and adaptability. For that matter we tend 
involuntarily to read consciousness into activities far less 
complex — into those which, according to our ordinary canons, 
are certainly unconscious. Though we refuse to associate con- 
sciousness with the simpler machines, yet when we watch a 
very intricate piece of machinery in operation and note how 
each part adapts itself nicely to the movements of every other 
part, it requires usually some effort to remember that it is 



294 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

after all a mere machine, — a thing made with hands. Invol- 
untarily we tend to think that it knows what it is doing. And 
when we have to do with an activity so vastly complex and 
adaptable as that of a higher animal or human being, the asso- 
ciation of consciousness with the activity is no longer merely 
involuntary but inevitable and necessary. In a word, an 
activity thus adaptable becomes ipso facto a conscious activity. 

Taking our start now from the conception of a purposive 
activity, let us suppose that we wish to make the purpose clear. 
First we have to note that the features contained in the pur- 
pose are as numerous and complicated as the activities by 
which the purpose is attained. Suppose that I am going to 
New York to meet a friend arriving on an incoming steamer. 
The preparations include, say, a railway ticket, a stock of clean 
linen, and a provision for any family or business needs that 
may arise during my absence. As we usually conceive it, the 
end is contained in the simple desire to meet the friend, all of 
the other features of the activity being regarded as mere means. 
But this is clearly an insufficient statement. I should probably 
not undertake to meet my friend if I had to make the journey 
on foot, or if I were unable to make a decent appearance, or 
to provide for the needs of business during my absence. Con- 
sequently a complete statement of my purpose would have to 
include all the desires implied in the intermediary activities 
and all their reciprocal relations. The same is true of the life 
purpose as a whole. Among the features of our life there are 
no absolute means or absolute ends, but all are coordinate in 
the organic unity constituting the end. The life purpose must 
then be as complex and as comprehensive in its character as 
the sum of activities in which it is realised. 

It is evident, then, that a clear statement of the purpose 
would be much more than an abstract statement of principle. 
The principle would have to be so stated as to bring simultane- 
ously to mind all the features included in the purpose in all 
their reciprocal relations. This means, in other words, that we 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 295 

must have a conception of human life of the same sort that 
the geometer has of the circle, in which all the various aspects 
of the circle, including the mutual relations of its centre, its 
diameters, its chords, arcs, inscribed and circumscribed poly- 
gons, etc., are conceived simultaneously as the logical con- 
sequences of the circular line, and the latter as the unity of 
these various relations ; or, again, as the draughtsman conceives 
a proposed machine, calculating the size, shape, and position 
of each part with reference to its function in the working of 
the machine as a whole. In other words, one who undertook 
to make an ultimately clear and detailed statement of the 
human life purpose would have to make a map of it, con- 
ceiving of human nature in mechanical form, determining the 
exact place of each feature and the mutual relations of all the 
features according to a mathematical formula. 

What sort of mechanism should we then expect to find in 
our diagram of the life purpose ? Certainly not a combination 
of wheels and levers. It is evident rather that a clear statement 
of the human purpose would be a completely detailed account of 
the human anatomy. And this is where we finally arrive in the 
search for a clear definition of the life purpose. Every human 
activity is ultimately a bodily activity, involving a coordination 
of muscular movements. And every function in the life pur- 
pose has its counterpart in the structural details of the body and 
in their structural connections through the brain and nervous sys- 
tem. The human anatomy is thus the life purpose reduced to con- 
crete expression. If we could formulate the anatomical relations 
in such a way as to obtain in one act of thought a picture of all their 
minute details, in all their reciprocal relations, we should have at 
once a clear statement of the organic unity of human nature and 
a comprehensive statement of its mechanical stnicture. 

It appears, then, that there is no ultimate contradiction be- 
tween the mechanical and teleological views of human life. 
A mechanism with the high degree of organisation shown in hu- 
man life must necessarily be conceived as conscious. At the 



296 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

same time, every conscious activity must have its correlative 
mechanical expression. As an activity which produces effects 
in the mechanical world it must be the activity of some sort of 
mechanical structure ; and the structure must necessarily be as 
complex as the end which it is sought to realise. It follows, then, 
that an ultimately clear conception of the ends of consciousness 
would show the same mathematical relations as those contained 
in the anatomical structure through which the ends are attained. 
In other words, a clear conception of the human life purpose 
would ultimately be a mechanical statement of the structure of 
the human body, while, on the other hand, an ultimately com- 
prehensive picture of the human anatomy would exhibit all the 
details as working together in a unity of conscious purpose. 

(^) Happiness and Self-realisation 

We come now to the more distinctly ethical aspect of the 
opposition of conceptions, as expressed in the antithesis between 
happiness and self-realisation. The essential feature of the op- 
position is as follows : When the hedonist asserts that our actions 
are directed toward happiness, he means that the determining 
factors are mainly on the side of the environment. He cannot 
entirely dispense with the internal factor, since the organism 
must have some quality if it is even to receive impressions. 
But in making it ' happiness,' or a desire for contentment and 
bodily comfort, he conceives the agent to be as nearly as possible 
passive and ready to conform to external conditions, as a result 
of which the factors determining the special direction of his 
activity will lie mostly in his environment. Self-realisation, on 
the other hand, places the determining factors mainly in the 
organism, the environment being a relatively passive instrument 
which is made to conform to the desires of the self. 

Now the hedonistic view of the relation of self and environ- 
ment will be true only of a creature with very simple desires. 
Let us imagine an animal with but one simple impulse ; let 
him be a horse, let his impulse be a food impulse, and let his food 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 297 

be nothing but oats. It is evident that his activity will then be 
fatally determined by the presence or absence of this single ob- 
ject. In the presence of oats he will eat, in their absence he 
will do nothing. But now if ' food ' include a variety of objects 
— and not a mere variety but a certain coordination of them, 
as is the case with our human food — the response to a particu- 
lar stimulus is not so obvious and inevitable. The presence or 
absence of a given object does not of itself determine what the 
organism will do. It all depends upon the place which this ob- 
ject holds at the moment in the complex demand for food. 
Accordingly, the preponderance of determining factors is now 
transferred from the side of external conditions to the side of in- 
ner demands, and the activity has become, relatively speaking, 
a realisation of self. But the complexity of relations assumed 
here is a very inadequate representation of the complexity found 
in our human nature as a whole. For the already highly complex 
food impulse stands side by side with other impulses, each of 
which, complex in itself, adds a new degree of complexity to the 
organic activity as a whole and a new degree of specialisation to 
the conditions necessary for organic satisfaction. And though 
we grant, with some hedonists, that the only impulse beside the 
food impulse is that of sex, still it is clear that, in human beings 
as contrasted with the lower animals, ' sex ' covers a wide range 
of conditions, and requires a very special combination of char- 
acters for its satisfaction. It is evident, then, that with a con- 
ception of happiness sufficiently comprehensive to cover the 
complexity of human desires, we could no longer represent 
human activity as to any considerable degree externally deter- 
mined. The activity would no doubt be controlled with refer- 
ence to the environment, but the determining factors would be 
mostly on the inner side, the nature of the response to any par- 
ticular stimulus being determined by the point reached in the 
satisfaction of a complex impulse. 1 

1 " For activity is self-determining just in so far as the agent's reaction against his 
environment ceases to be determined for him from the outset by a few rigidly 



298 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

It appears then that a conception of ' happiness ' sufficiently 
comprehensive to cover the complexities of human action would 
be identical with the conception of self-realisation. 

Turning now to the idealistic standpoint, we find in the en- 
deavour to clarify the conception of self-realisation an approach 
to the conception of ' happiness.' A clear definition of the 
self would require an exact statement (ultimately a mathemati- 
cal statement) of the part played in the self by each of the 
several capacities whose harmonious development constitutes 
the self-realisation. In other words, we should have to express 
the self in terms of quantity and the individual capacities in 
terms of amount. But the search for a quantitative concep- 
tion of human capacity or potentiality would bring us to a 
conception similar to the physicist's conception of energy; 
for ' energy ' is nothing more than the possibility of action. 
The self as a whole would then be the expression of organic 
energy, i.e. of the particular possibilities of activity contained 
in human nature. Self-realisation would be the complete 
satisfaction of organic aims or, in other words, the realisa- 
tion of the demands of organic welfare. But in 'organic 
welfare ' we have arrived at what the hedonist means by 
' happiness.' A clear definition of self-realisation would thus 
be a quantitative statement in terms of happiness. This, how- 
ever, is not equivalent to a statement that all our desires are 
mere modifications of the special demands of food and sex. 
It means rather that all our concrete desires, including these 

fixed typical forms of instinctive response to certain general classes of stimulus, 
and comes to be adapted on each and every occasion to secure the particular re- 
sult, which, under the special circumstances of the case, is demanded by the 
permanent interests of the individual or of the species of which he is a represen- 
tative member. I am, for instance, more truly a self-determining agent than a 
hemisphereless fish, because while the fish is so constituted that he cannot but 
snap at the bait that is dangled before his nose, even though he has but this mo- 
ment been released from the hook that lies concealed behind it, I can put down 
the glass that I am raising to my lips and consider the probable effect of the 
indulgence upon my health, my work, and my reputation." — A. E. TAYLOR, 
The Problem of Conduct, p. 40. 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 299 

of food and sex, form a single system of quantitative relations, 
that all may therefore be conceived as quantitative variations 
of the one organic impulse or energy. 

(c) Social Equilibrium and Social Organism 

Our third and last illustration has to do with the opposing 
social conceptions. Here we have an opposition between the 
hedonistic conception of a social equilibrium and the ideal- 
istic conception of a social organism, or social personality. 
The hedonistic theory sets out from the conception of a society 
made up of separate individuals with separate and conflicting 
interests. Social organisation is then a compromise in which 
each agrees to renounce an amount of his own happiness suffi- 
cient to enable him to live with others, to command their ser- 
vices, and to prevent their interference with his private aims ; 
in Mr. Spencer's language, it is an ' equilibrium ' of social forces. 
But, as Mr. Spencer adds, it is not a static equilibrium, such 
as exists between the several stones in an arch, where each is 
held in a fixed position by the others, but a moving equilibrium, 
such as exists between the several parts of a machine in motion, 
or between the several members of the solar system. Idealism, 
on the other hand, conceives of society as an organic unity, — 
not an equilibrium of opposing forces, but a harmonious co- 
ordination of functions, none of which has any existence or any 
interests apart from those of the organism as a whole. 

Starting from the hedonistic standpoint we have to note that 
here as before it is only while we are dealing with relatively 
simple structures that the hedonistic conception remains purely 
mechanical. If the human being were a simple and rigid 
fact with a very restricted choice of action — like the fly- 
wheel of a steam engine, which can do nothing but turn on 
its shaft — we should have to think of society as an equilibrium, 
in which the movement of each part were rigidly determined 
by the movements of the other parts, — in which, in other 



300 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

words, each individual interest were held in check by the resist- 
ance offered by others. But as a matter of fact the human 
being is highly complex in structure, and may react upon a 
simple obstruction in an indefinite number of ways. Accord- 
ingly, when two human beings come together, it is not a case 
of blind collision, like the crash of railway trains, where each 
pursues its original course until its energy is exhausted by the 
resistance offered by the other ; nor is it a case of mutual 
restraint, like that of the parts of a machine or of the solar 
system, where the path of each is determined by the attractions 
and repulsions offered by the others. On the contrary, each 
of the approaching bodies is able, to some extent at least, so to 
adapt his movements to those of the other that he may pursue 
his own way without interference. But the result of this com- 
plex organisation is not merely an absence of interference but 
rather a positive extension of activity. For the possibility of 
mutual adaptation is also a possibility of cooperation. In other 
words, each may not only avoid collision with the other but may 
also aid him in the prosecution of his activity ; and the result is 
that, through united effort, both secure larger results than if 
working alone. To this we must add that the gain from united 
effort is out of all proportion to the number engaged. Each 
new member added to the organisation means that the organi- 
sation as such is capable of dealing with a far larger variety of 
conditions, thus increasing its product out of all proportion to 
the numerical increase in membership. And when we think of 
the race as a whole in a state of perfect organisation, there 
appears to be no limit to the attainable results, and at the same 
time no limit to the amount by which we may further the 
interests of each member. 

What becomes of the social equilibrium under these con- 
ditions ? Evidently the conception of a mere equilibrium is 
no longer applicable. For the essential feature of an equilib- 
rium is an original opposition of interests, each of which is 
simply checked by a blind collision with the others. But in a 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 301 

condition of perfect organisation among highly complex 
individuals there is no longer any opposition of interests. On 
the contrary each finds his own highest interest in the interest 
of society as a whole, and no individual self-interest is checked 
by the self-interest of any other. The conditions of an equilib- 
rium are thus no longer present. And we may add that in the 
absence of these conditions the activity is no longer ' blind.' 
Only a simple collision of forces could be called blind ; a state 
of complex mutual adaptation would necessarily be conceived 
as conscious and purposive. It seems, then, that when we 
make the conception of a social equilibrium sufficiently com- 
prehensive to cover the social activities of human beings, we 
have no longer a social equilibrium, but a social personality. 

From the idealistic standpoint the argument is as before : a 
clear statement of the content of the social personality would 
be a mathematical statement in terms of social units. Only 
one point requires special mention. It is evident that, if we 
are to secure a clear statement of the nature of the social unity, 
we must have ultimately a detailed statement of the part played 
by each individual and of the exact reciprocal relations of the 
individual functions. And in a unity of action each function 
would have to be exactly adjusted to the others. This con- 
dition of adjustment is implied in the conception of harmoni- 
ous, purposive action, for if such adjustments were not made, 
men would be working at cross purposes. It follows, then, that 
each function would be in some sense determined — or at any 
rate defined — by the other, and consequently that a clear 
statement of the social unity would be a statement in which 
the several functions were conceived as in some sense in a 
relation of equilibrium. 1 

3. THE IMMEDIATE CONTRADICTIONS OF CONCRETE THOUGHT 

In the foregoing I have endeavoured to show that the concep- 
tions upon which the alternative theories of conduct rest have 

1 Alexander, Moral Order and Progress, pp. 5 ff., 89 ff. 



302 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

a certain complementary character, — that they are so related 
that a complete statement of conduct in terms of one concep- 
tion would necessarily include the statement aimed at by its 
alternative. We have to remember, however, that this applies 
only to the bare conceptions ; and the conceptions, as such, 
do not constitute knowledge or truth, in the complete sense. 
There is no real knowledge until the conceptions have been 
developed into a scientific system, — that is, until they have 
been actually worked out and reduced to terms of fact and 
detail. And it is possible that, when thus developed, they would 
present a very different aspect. Hence, the indications to the 
effect that these conceptions would be ultimately complement- 
ary and mutually consistent are not sufficient to warrant the 
assertion of consistency as a scientific fact. There is no real 
coordination of theory, and no real solution of the problem, 
until the whole object has been completely analysed and all its 
individual aspects completely articulated. 

Now when we endeavour to construct such a system by apply- 
ing these metaphysical conceptions to the world immediately 
before us, we encounter a contradiction between the mechanical 
interpretation of things on the one side and the teleological 
interpretation on the other ; and while believing in the ultimate 
unity of both aspects of the world, we find it necessary, for 
immediate and practical purposes, to hold them to some de- 
gree apart. We find it necessary to calculate, yet we have no 
adequate basis for all the purposes of calculation. We therefore 
make use of the units offered by science, though recognising their 
merely provisional character. For more general purposes we 
adopt the physical atoms as our elements of reality, and the 
law of gravitation as a statement of their relations, though 
we know that upon this basis of calculation we can hardly 
include all the aspects of the world. In our view of human 
desire we find it conducive to clearness to suppose that all 
desires are modifications of the desire for sensuous pleasure, 
though we know that, upon the basis of our present conception of 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 303 

sensuous pleasure, the view cannot ultimately be true. And 
we find it similarly convenient to think of society as an aggre- 
gate of independent units or selves, while recognising that the 
real self must be more comprehensive and less independent 
than the self we have postulated. 

Our inability to effect a complete reconciliation of ethical 
theories is but one phase of the general limitations of our 
thought. It is a fact of the same order as that of the 'span of 
attention.' We find that only a small number of objects can 
be taken in at a glance. If we can conceive them to be re- 
lated in some sort of order — in groups or in geometrical fig- 
ures — we can take in a larger number ; but our attention is now 
occupied with the groups as such rather than with the individu- 
als composing them. The same is true of our thought generally. 
It is clearly difficult to get a view of a complex object which 
shall in an instant of thought include all the details of the ob- 
ject and all their mutual relations. Suppose that one is observ- 
ing the operation of a simple model of a steam engine. It 
will perhaps be possible for one with some knowledge of 
mechanics to apprehend at a glance both the sum of its con- 
stituent parts in all of their structural relations and the exact 
manner in which they work together in the general economy of 
the machine. But if we add a few modifications to our machine, 
our grasp of its plan of operation becomes relatively vague ; 
and we need not go far before we find it quite impossible to 
grasp all the details in a single organised act of thought. We 
may then form a general conception of the end or purpose 
which determines the construction as a whole, and we may 
think of the parts one by one as related to that conception. 
But we can hardly get such a view that in the act of con- 
ceiving of the purpose of the construction we have at the 
same time a clear and detailed view of the structure as the 
expression of that purpose. But the complexity of any kind of 
machine is of small extent when compared with the complexity 
of human nature. It is therefore still less to be expected that 



304 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

we should obtain a really organic view of the economy of hu- 
man life. Our view of life as a whole must necessarily be 
somewhat vague, while any clear view will necessarily be some- 
what narrow. 

A clear and fully comprehensive conception of human na- 
ture would require evidently a mind of more than the present 
highest human capacity. We are accustomed to estimate 
mental capacity by the capacity for generalisation, while ad- 
mitting that with the increase of power of generalisation there 
is a loss of the power of retaining details. But this choice of 
criterion is an accommodation to human limitations ; it is valid 
only (if it have any real validity) for a creature with a nar- 
row ' span of attention.' Where we conceive these limitations 
to be absent, we adopt a different measure. If, for example, 
we endeavour, with Kant and the theologians, to conceive of 
the infinite mind of God, we cannot reconcile the infinite 
capacity for thought with even the smallest loss of detail. We 
cannot conceive of God's conception of the world as an ab- 
stract conception of world principle ; it must also be in a 
sense a bird's-eye view, a view which takes in at a glance each 
minute detail, each difference of relation, and at the same time 
comprehends all in an organic unity. In other words, it must 
be a view in which the mechanical and teleological conceptions 
have arrived at a concrete harmony. Now it is a priori conceiv- 
able that this degree of capacity may be reached in the future 
development of human thought. But, as we shall see in the 
next chapter, it is not more than conceivable ; for, however 
far the grasp of the mind be extended, there is no ground for 
believing that it will ever equal the task set before it. 

4. HEDONISM AND IDEALISM AS REGULATIVE HYPOTHESES 

In the meantime we have to ask what attitude we are to take 
toward the empirical divergence of theory. Ought we to be 
content with a view of conduct which is practical and clear, 
ignoring all those aspects which tend to introduce confusion, 



METAPHYSICAL RELATIONS 305 

or ought we to make the attempt to grasp the meaning of life 
as a whole without regard to the extent to which we may grasp 
it clearly? Or, again, translating the theoretical into a practical 
question, ought we to aim immediately at a complete and 
ideal form of human existence, or is it better to confine our 
activity to regions where the conditions assure us of practical 
results? Evidently the true view of life and of conduct is not 
to be found in the exclusive acceptance of either alternative, 
but in a form of activity regulated by a consideration of both. 
In other words, both alternatives must be used as regulative 
hypotheses. In the absence of an exact coordination, we 
may still effect an adjustment, or compromise, by which we 
may obtain guidance from both. This use of alternatives 
is, in fact, the method commonly used in the solution of prac- 
tical problems. The mariner whose course is not accurately 
marked out knows that he is to avoid Scylla on the one 
side and Charybdis on the other. The instruction to avoid 
either alone would not give him the safe and proper course, 
yet the instruction to avoid both tells him his course with a 
fair degree of accuracy. It is in some such way that we are 
to make use of the theories of hedonism and idealism, — 
but with this important difference, that whereas the mariner's 
problem is to keep as far as possible from both of the opposing 
alternatives, the moral problem is to bring the two as near as 
possible together. For it is not a question merely of avoiding 
extreme ideals or an extreme compliance with conditions, but 
rather of combining the highest possible ideals with the most 
thorough adjustment to conditions. In chapters xviii and xix I 
shall endeavour to state in a general way how this attitude would 
be expressed in concrete activity. In the meantime we shall 
endeavour to gain a clearer view of the problem by studying its 
significance from the standpoint of evolution. 



CHAPTER XVII 
THE SITUATION FROM AN EVOLUTIONARY STANDPOINT 

1. THE STANDPOINT FOR A CONCEPTION OF EVOLUTION 

In undertaking a statement of the evolutionary process some- 
thing should first be said about the standpoint from which we 
are to proceed. In previous chapters we have considered 
two theories of evolution, one of which proceeds from the 
standpoint of external observation and interprets the evolution- 
ary process in the light of the external activity alone, while the 
other takes the internal standpoint of self-consciousness and 
interprets the process as a development of purpose and motive. 
From the one we get a purely mechanical conception of evolu- 
tion, from the other a purely teleological conception. It is 
evident, however, that either point of view involves an abstrac- 
tion, however necessary the abstraction may be for immediate 
and practical purposes. We do not get a true idea of human 
activity merely by observing the overt actions of others and 
ignoring their possible connection with motives and purposes, 
nor yet by a mere analysis of our own motives, which leaves Out 
of account the manner in which these motives are expressed in 
overt action. Clearly a conception of human activity which 
looks exclusively at one side or the other is an inadequate 
representation of the concrete reality as it is apprehended in 
our common sense. Accordingly, if we are to frame a con- 
ception of evolution which shall enable us to include within a 
concrete reality the opposing elements of the moral situation, 
we must avoid committing ourselves to either abstraction. We 

306 



EVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 307 

must regard the human being as a concrete whole — as a being 
which is both a mechanism and a personality — and our concep- 
tion of evolution must be capable of expression in terms of 
either. 

2. THE EVOLUTIONARY PROCESS 

Such a conception is found, I believe, when we think of 
human evolution as a process of extending our control over the 
resources of human life. We get a familiar illustration of the 
process of extending our control in the progress of a country 
like our own, which is relatively new, yet not uncivilised, some 
parts of which show a high degree of culture, while others are 
quite wild and unknown. The development of the country 
means that we are constantly extending our control over its 
natural resources. We are bringing waste land under cultiva- 
tion and developing its minerals and timber, for which purpose 
we are exploring and surveying. At the same time we are 
endeavouring, through more accurate knowledge and more eco- 
nomical methods, to derive a greater advantage from the 
resources already relatively controlled. At any stage of the 
process we may distinguish two sorts or phases of activity, 
— an activity which is relatively organised, systematic, and 
determinate, and an activity which is relatively unorganised, 
unsystematic, and free. The former is represented by the 
settled manner of life of the older civilisation, the latter by the 
relatively speculative activity of the more progressive element. 
But the two forms of activity stand in close reciprocal rela- 
tions. Every new discovery, like that of oil or natural gas, 
works a change in the older civilisation, reorganising its indus- 
tries and modifying the daily round of habits. On the other 
hand, every newer development is also a product of the older 
organisation, since without the railways to carry the oil and the 
pipes to conduct the gas, and, moreover, without the high de- 
gree of intellectual and industrial development necessary to 
their construction, the utilisation of the newer products would 
be impossible, — and for that matter, without a certain devel- 



308 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

opment of scientific knowledge and of means of transportation, 
they would not have been discovered. Now it is in some such 
way that we are to conceive the evolution of human life and 
activity. The human being is constantly extending his control 
over the resources of human life. At any stage of the process 
his activity is to an extent organised and determined, to an 
extent unorganised and free. But the extent to which he may 
act effectively along new lines of effort depends upon the extent 
to which the older habits are organised into a system, while, on 
the other hand, every new line of activity requires a certain 
reorganisation of his system of organised habits. Evolution is 
thus a constant process of reorganisation looking to a wider 
range of activity. 

Regarding the evolutionary process in this manner, we need 
not ask whether the ' resources of human life ' lie in the latent 
capacities of human nature or in the environmental conditions. 
The process of extending our control may be stated in either 
terms. At any stage of the process the activity is subject to 
limiting conditions. And it makes no difference for our imme- 
diate purpose whether we say that the limits are imposed by the 
environment or by the incompleteness of our own development, 
for the one necessarily involves the other. For example, at a 
period previous to the development of steam power, we could 
have said, as we may still say, that facility of communication 
was limited by the conditions of space and time, and by the 
mechanical conditions determining the construction of means 
of transportation. But the existence of these conditions meant 
also that the human capacity for mathematical and mechanical 
construction was not yet sufficiently developed to deal with the 
opportunities offered by the presence of iron ore, coal, and 
water. The extent to which the limitations imposed by these 
conditions have been removed is that to which our human 
capacities have been developed ; and the extent to which 
these limits remain may be regarded as nothing but the 
degree to which our latent capacities are not yet developed. 






EVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 309 

(a) The Evolution of Knowledge 

Psychologically, the evolutionary process may be stated in 
two ways, — as an evolution of intellect, or knowledge, and as 
an evolution of will and desire. As an evolution of intellect it 
means that relatively vague appreciations of reality are being 
analysed and organised into relatively clear and systematic 
perceptions of objects. The first apprehension of an object 
is a relatively vague appreciation. It has all the indefiniteness 
of an impressionistic painting. When I see an object — say 
a typewriter — for the first time, I get an impression of it as 
a whole and also certain impressions of individual parts. But 
both are very indefinite. It is not until I have had a long 
acquaintance with the object that I have a perfectly definite 
picture. This picture is at the same time a definite picture 
of the object as a whole and a definite picture of each of its 
parts and of all its relations of parts. It is thus, as compared 
with the first impression, a systematic and organised view of 
the object. Such a growth in organisation is involved in all 
development of knowledge. The highest degree of organisa- 
tion is found in our scientific knowledge ; it is found in a higher 
degree in the natural sciences as distinct from others, and in the 
highest degree in the most scientific of the natural sciences, 
the science of physics. Now between the organised thought 
of science and the relatively free activity of our unscientific 
thought, we may trace the same relations as those attributed 
to the organised and unorganised aspects of thought in general. 
The exact sciences cover a relatively narrow range of our 
thought, but they none the less furnish the basis upon which 
we attempt to organise our thinking in general. The physiolo- 
gist or zoologist hopes to bring his science to the stage of 
organisation reached by physics, and in his effort toward this 
end he is constantly endeavouring to conceive his subject- 
matter in terms that are purely mechanical. But all of our 
thought is making the same endeavour. The philosophy, 



310 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

psychology, sociology, and even the theology of any period 
all represent, together with our popular thinking, an effort to 
define reality in terms of the prevalent scientific conceptions, 
and thus to conceive all reality in the form of a single compact 
system. On the other hand, the scientific conceptions are 
themselves being constantly reorganised to meet our newer 
appreciations of reality. While physiology is endeavouring to 
define its subject-matter in terms of physics, the physicist is 
at the same time endeavouring to reconstruct his conceptions 
so as to admit of a more comprehensive application. This 
is clearly the case at the present time, when the conception 
of matter as the ultimate basis of reality is giving way to the 
conception of force, and that of force is taking on a decidedly 
immaterial aspect. Looking, then, at the evolution of thought 
as a whole, we may say of it what we said of the evolution of 
human activity in general, that it is a constant process of re- 
organisation for the purpose of a wider range of activity. 

(b) The Evolution of Will 

In the development of will and desire, ideal aspirations are 
being organised into practical and imperative needs. Here 
we have a further illustration of the relation between organised 
and unorganised activities. The various wants of our nature 
differ in the extent to which they are necessities of life. And 
they are necessities to the extent that they are closely inter- 
woven into the web of settled habits which constitutes our 
ordinary round of activity. They are necessities to the extent 
that they form a part of our organised activity, to the extent 
that a failure to attain satisfaction would tend to interfere 
with the process of activity as a whole. It is this that makes 
food a necessity. For some persons it is necessary that food 
should be of fine quality and delicately served. But the 
quality and manner of service is never so distinctly a necessity 
as the presence of food of some kind that can be eaten and di- 
gested. For though my day's work may suffer if my break- 



EVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 311 

fast has been unappetising, it may be impossible to do any- 
thing if I have had no breakfast at all. Thus, as compared 
with the need of breakfast as such, the demand for fine 
quality and delicate service is relatively an ideal demand, — 
a demand for something that is complete and perfect rather 
than imperative and necessary. And so we may think of 
all ideal demands, including not only those which relate more 
especially to the improvement of physical conditions but the 
demands for intellectual and aesthetic satisfaction ; they are all 
demands for the improvement and perfection of life rather 
than for its mere preservation. As such they represent ac- 
tivities that are relatively unorganised and free. They are not 
so closely interwoven into the web of life as the more neces- 
sary wants, and their failure to attain satisfaction does not so 
seriously disorganise our life as a whole. 

Now in the course of evolution we are constantly extending 
and reorganising our system of wants so as to obtain a wider 
range and a more perfect degree of satisfaction. In other words, 
we are constantly incorporating relatively ideal wants into the 
system of organic needs. Illustrations of this process are to be 
found in the increased comfort and healthfulness of our houses 
and cities as compared with those of our forefathers, in our 
better clothes and more frequent changes, in the opportunities 
for more extended reading and travel, and hence for more 
extended social intercourse. The last century has introduced a 
vast number of improvements into our way of living. As each 
improvement has become more of a possibility, it has become also 
more of a necessity, with the result that we now number among 
the necessities of health conditions which our forefathers would 
have regarded as wholly ideal, — conditions which were regarded 
as desirable, indeed, but incidental to an ideal existence rather 
than necessary for practical life. Accordingly, the evolution of 
desire and will follows the same method as the evolution of 
human life generally ; it is a constant process of reorganisation 
for the purpose of covering a wider range of activity. 



312 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

The two psychological aspects of development are clearly 
parallel and coordinate. We cannot say of either that it is 
primary while the other is secondary. The improvement of 
our practical life depends of course upon the extension of our 
knowledge, but on the other hand, the extension of our know- 
ledge depends upon the demand for improvement, since it is 
this demand which stimulates our intellectual activities and 
determines their direction. Therefore, instead of a relation of 
cause and effect between the two psychological processes we 
have them related as coordinate features of a unitary activity. 
These features remain coordinate throughout the process. The 
extent to which our knowledge is clear and systematic marks 
always the extent to which its objects are necessary conditions 
of existence, and conversely. This relation is shown again by 
the science of physics, which represents our clearest and most 
systematic knowledge and which at the same time deals with 
the conditions — the simple mechanical conditions — which 
are most fundamental to all forms of activity. The evolution of 
mind is thus equally, inseparably, and almost indistinguishably, 
an organisation of appreciations into perceptions, and of the 
ideal into the practical. Both may be expressed by saying 
that it is an organisation of the ideal into the practical-real. 1 

3. HEDONISM AND IDEALISM AS EVOLUTIONARY ATTITUDES 

In the distinction between organised and free activity we 
have an evolutionary statement of the distinction between 
hedonism and idealism. It has been pointed out that of the 
two ethical theories hedonism is the more scientific. Hedonism 
is the expression of the same standpoint and method which 
characterises the natural sciences in general, and mechanical 
science in particular; and as such it represents the demand 

1 In a paper on " Art, Industry and Science," Psychological Review, March, 
1901, I have represented the evolution both of will and intellect as an or- 
ganisation of the cestketic into the practical and real, — of art into industry and 
science. 



EVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 313 

for an analytic and organised expression of reality in terms of 
constituent elements and their mutual relations. It is also, 
as we have seen, the view which represents more adequately 
the immediate demands of practical life. On the other hand, 
idealism as compared with hedonism is a poetic rather than a 
scientific theory. It represents a general feeling (intuition, or 
appreciation) of reality rather than an organised and analytic 
perception. And in its application to conduct it emphasises 
the ultimate need of a perfect and complete existence rather 
than the immediate need of dealing with present conditions. 
It becomes as such the expression of that side of our activity 
which is relatively undefined and unorganised. 

Looking at the contrast of theory from this standpoint it 
appears to be no longer a contrast between fixed and stationary 
conceptions of reality, but rather a contrast of attitude toward 
the existing crisis in a constantly advancing process, — in other 
words, a contrast of attitude toward the existing phase of the 
moral problem. In the course of evolution the centre or focus 
of the process of reorganisation is constantly moving. Elements 
of reality which were at one time new and apparently in con- 
flict with the fundamental realities have now been incorporated 
into the scientific system, and ideals which at one time ap- 
peared to be revolutionary have now come to be presupposed in 
our daily round of activity. But having answered one ques- 
tion and satisfied one need, there is always another awaiting 
our attention. And so the problem of life and science is con- 
stantly changing, and with the change of problem there comes 
a change in the form of theory which stands for one side or the 
other. This movement of the point at issue, with the corre- 
sponding modification of the opposing views constituting the 
issue, may be easily observed in all our thought and activity. 
For example, the issue between our Republican and Democratic 
parties is very different to-day from what it was forty years ago. 
One who thinks only of the constant change of party issues 
may even doubt whether the continuity of political standpoint 



314 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

is anything more than a tradition ; yet one who carefully studies 
the opposing views may easily see that each represents to-day the 
same political attitude that it represented in the past, and is 
the expression of the same general attitude toward life. Again, 
the conceptions of physical science are very different to-day 
from what they were in the time of Newton, and as we have 
seen, they are still undergoing a process of modification ; yet 
physical science maintains to-day the same attitude toward 
thought and life in general that it has always held. Now the same 
is true of our theories of conduct. The contrast of hedonism 
and idealism is to be found everywhere in the history of philoso- 
phy, yet the hedonism of Bentham is not that of Epicurus, nor is 
Spencer's hedonism the same as that of Bentham. Even the 
last half century has shown a decided change in the point at 
issue. Fifty years ago it had mainly to do with the question of 
whether conduct was to be made the subject of calculation 
and reasoning, — in other words, whether it was to be deter- 
mined with reference to an end. This question may now in a 
sense be regarded as settled, and the moral issue of to-day 
relates rather to the nature of the end toward which our con- 
duct is to be directed. Yet it is easy to see that the utilitarian 
doctrine to the effect that the end justifies the means is the 
expression of the same attitude which also defines the end as 
happiness, and, on the other hand, that the view which de- 
fines the end as self-realisation is an expression of the same 
attitude which formerly refused to recognise any ends whatever. 
This, then, is what our ethical theories come finally to stand 
for : in the light of their history and evolution they no longer 
represent an opposition of fixed views, but rather a contrast of 
attitude toward a constantly developing problem. Hedonism 
is the representative of organised conditions and scientific con- 
ceptions of reality ; idealism is the representative of the wants 
and intuitions which have not yet been clearly defined and 
organised. 



EVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 315 

4. THE PERMANENCE OF THE PROBLEMATIC SITUATION 

In a world whose development is determined by one univer- 
sal law, such as we are bound to assume our world to be, there 
ought to be no conflict or inconsistency between progressive 
ideals and organised conditions. This means that there should 
be on the one hand no inconsistency between the scientific 
view of the world as a mechanism and the teleological view of 
the world as the development of a purpose, and none, on the 
other hand, between the demands of self-preservation and those 
of self-realisation. Looking at conduct as a mechanical relation 
of cause and effect, or as the outcome of existing conditions, we 
should expect, after making a summary of the causes or con- 
ditions and working out their effects, to reach a result identical 
with what is given in intuition as the purpose or ideal of conduct ; 
and on the other hand an analysis of our ideal should show it 
to be necessarily implied in the sum of conditions or causes. 
In other words, we ought to be able to effect a harmonious 
conjunction between causes read forward and ideals read back- 
ward. The ideal should be found in an estimate of the me- 
chanical effects of present conditions, the present conditions in 
an analysis of the logical presuppositions of the ideals. 

Now it is interesting to note that in studying some past phase 
in the development of thought and activity this sort of consist- 
ency seems almost attainable. Thus, reviewing the American 
Revolution from our present standpoint, it seems possible to 
conceive it both as the realisation of certain ideals of liberty and 
equality and, at the same time, as the necessary outcome of 
geographical and economic conditions, — the necessary result 
of an attempt to organise the life of the colonies. The view 
from the distance fails apparently to destroy either aspect of 
the activity; we seem only to see more clearly how the ideals 
grew out of the conditions. This is even clearer when we turn 
our attention to the history of thought. Looking at some past 
system of science or philosophy from our present standpoint. 



316 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

it becomes clear that it had to be modified because it proved 
to be too narrow to cover the facts brought out in subsequent 
investigations ; but at the same time we can see that the develop- 
ment was due to the efforts of those standing for the system 
to make it internally more consistent. Historically, it seems 
possible to conceive of each successive phase in the process of 
reorganisation as the logical completion of the organisation 
already effected, and of the evolutionary process as a single 
consistent stream of activity without internal conflicts and 
contradictions. 

But in the midst of the activity itself this consistent view of 
things is rarely attainable. It is not, indeed, unreasonable to 
suppose that even here such ultimate consistency might be 
discovered in a really complete view of the situation, — that is, 
in a view sufficiently comprehensive to take in the whole 
situation and sufficiently clear to represent each of its details in 
distinct outline. But it is obvious that at the moment of action 
such completeness of view is never realised. And for human 
beings as we know them its realisation is quite out of the ques- 
tion. Hence it happens that at every stage of our growth, at 
every stage both of individual and of social development, we 
find ourselves in the presence of a contradiction between ideals 
to be realised and conditions which must be observed. It is this 
contradiction which I have endeavoured to state and define in 
all the preceding chapters, as a contradiction which appears 
not only in theory of conduct but in all departments of science 
and philosophy. Its presence in the life process tends to 
divide our world into two, — into an objective material world, 
apprehended in science, which sets the conditions and im- 
mediate limits for the realisation of desire, and an internal 
subjective world of purpose, which is apprehended intuitively 
and represents the ideals we aim to realise. In order to move 
further in the life process it is necessary that the two be fitted 
together ; yet we are never able to join them in a perfectly 
satisfactory manner. This does not mean that we face a 



EVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 317 

blank contradiction, for some extent of practical coordination 
is always effected ; and if this were impossible, the life process 
would come to a stop. What is meant is that such coordina- 
tion is necessarily of the nature of a compromise. What we 
strictly ought to do is never the most spontaneous tendency of 
our nature. Our happiness points in one direction, our ideals 
in another. And in the end, when a practical coordination is 
reached, both have been to some extent sacrificed; we have 
abandoned some feature of our ideal to meet the existing con- 
ditions and ignored some of the conditions of happiness in the 
interest of our ideal. 

There is no reason to believe that this contradiction will be 
permanently less of a contradiction than it is in the present, or 
that it is less of a contradiction in the present than it has been 
in the past. This point has been anticipated in chapters vii 
and viii, where it is shown that there is no ground for be- 
lieving that the sum of happiness has been increased in the pres- 
ent as compared with the past, or that it will show any increase 
in the future. It is true that life is being constantly improved, 
that conditions are being constantly reorganised to admit of a 
wider range of activity, and that scientific conceptions are being 
constantly reorganised to cover a wider range of reality. That 
the history of life and of thought is a record of relatively con- 
stant progress is a proposition which few would deny. But 
when a certain ideal is reached, and a certain range of reality 
organised and brought under control, there appears always a 
wider range of reality and of ideal need whose existence was 
hitherto not thought of. And thus, when the attention is set free 
by the solution of one problem, it is immediately set to work upon 
the solution of another, which now becomes as vital and as press- 
ing as any problem which has appeared in the past. At every 
stage of the process we tend to believe that the problem upon 
which we are immediately engaged is the final one, that its so- 
lution will be a final answer to all difficult questions. We rest 
constantly under the illusion that the next step in the fulfilment 



3 i8 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

of our individual ambitions will bring us a secure and lasting 
contentment, that the next step in social reform will finally 
establish the social structure upon a stable basis. Yet each 
problem is succeeded by another equally difficult, and in its 
own time equally important, and we can find no ground for 
believing that the stream of problems will ever be exhausted. 

The constant development of new problems is due to the 
indefinite extent of human demands and resources. No ulti- 
mate limit can be assigned to either. At any given point in the 
evolutionary process the resources may not equal the demands 
and the demands themselves may thus be held in check. But 
this situation exists only temporarily and relatively. Sooner or 
later we succeed in effecting some compromise between de- 
mands and conditions, and then, the immediate demand being 
satisfied, we turn to the next. There appears to be no ground 
for supposing that this process may not continue forever. We 
have therefore to assume that, whatever stage is reached, there 
will still be a higher. We shall then be in the same position 
toward the then higher as we are now toward the immediately 
higher. There will be a conflict between the demands of the 
higher stage and the conditions developed in the next lower. 
We may then expect a constant renewal of the conflict, and a 
constant renewal of the moral problem. 

Without its problem it is not easy to imagine what life would 
be. For problem and difficulty appear to lie at the basis of all 
its positive character. Let us suppose life to be absolutely self- 
consistent and frictionless. There would be no tragedy, for 
tragedy has to do with conflict ; no comedy, for comedy rests 
upon incongruities ; no art, for art is the solution of a prob- 
lem ; no pleasure, for pleasure is the overcoming of a diffi- 
culty. In a word, there would be no interest, since interest 
presupposes a degree of uncertainty; and finally (if we hold 
that consciousness itself rests upon a conflict), there would be no 
consciousness. A being which had solved all its problems and 
had reached a final and complete condition of adjustment to 



EVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 319 

environment, would seem to be simply an automaton. Possibly- 
such absolute automatism may be the final object of our desire, 
as Oriental philosophy has conceived it to be. And it may be 
possible to conceive, as the accompaniment of automatism, an 
eternally satisfied consciousness. This is a question which I 
shall not attempt to consider. I wish only to point out that 
problem and difficulty appear to be inseparably connected with 
life as we now have it ; that, however difficult it may be to dis- 
cover any intrinsic goodness in a conscious life which is conscious 
only in the presence of conflict and struggle, yet if we eliminate 
the element of conflict, it becomes equally difficult to see how 
human life could remain humanly interesting. 

In thus insisting upon the positive character of the moral 
conflict the view presented here differs both from (1) the 
optimistic view which regards the moral conflict as a mere 
appearance, and from (2) the pessimistic view which regards it 
as a hopeless contradiction. (1) The first I understand to be 
the view implied in Professor Dewey's definition of the ' ethical 
postulate ' : " Defining conduct from the standpoint of the 
action, which includes both the agent and his scene of action, 
we see that the conduct required truly to express an agent is, 
at the same time, the conduct required to maintain the situation 
in which he is placed ; while, conversely , the conduct that truly 
meets the situation is that which furthers the agent." 1 Now it 
would be too much to say that the ' ethical postulate' is wholly 
meaningless. It is probable, as we have just seen, that for an 
agent capable of arriving at a really complete view of his 
situation — i.e. a view sufficiently comprehensive to take in the 
whole situation and sufficiently clear to represent each of its 
details in distinct outline — the postulate would be absolutely 
valid. We should then be justified in saying that when the 
conflict occurs, it is a mere appearance due to an incomplete 
view. But no human being is capable of arriving at a really 
complete view. Consequently, there is no one for whom it is 

1 Sec his Syllabus, p. 11, also his paper in The Monist, VqL VIII, p. 321. 



320 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

possible to effect a complete reconciliation between the conduct 
required to express himself as an agent and that which meets 
his situation. And in the absence of a concrete possibility of 
reconciliation it seems not only irrelevant but morally unwhole- 
some to insist upon such possibility as a practical postulate. 
An agent compelled to assume that ideals and conditions are 
fully reconcilable finds himself in the following situation : he 
does not succeed in effecting a reconciliation ; he is somewhat 
uncertain about the conduct required to express himself as an 
agent ; but the demands of the conditions seem relatively clear. 
It will therefore be sufficient for him to meet the conditions — 
to choose the path of contentment and happiness, or the path 
of least resistance (since the need of resistance is unreal) — 
leaving the ideals to take care of themselves. In a word, he 
will judge moral effort to be unnecessary. It is evident that the 
result will be anything but moral conduct. He will neither 
realise his moral ideal nor will he ' truly ' meet the situation in 
the sense that Mr. Dewey intends it. On the other hand, if he 
clearly recognised beforehand that ideals and conditions were 
not altogether reconcilable, he would feel it necessary to give 
each side a certain measure of consideration, and he might then 
go far toward realising the demands of both. 1 

(2) Hence, though recognising the positive character of 
the conflict, we need not, on the other hand, assume that the 
situation is hopelessly self-contradictory. For granting that our 
solutions of moral problems are never completely satisfactory, 
they may still be satisfactory to a greater or less degree. One's 

1 As a mere postulate, i.e. as the statement of a requirement of a finally 
satisfactory and reasonable view of conduct, the ethical postulate appears to 
me to be indisputable. But to set it up as a basis of action for us here and 
now (which I take to be the intention of the Syllabus) is to assume that the re- 
quirement is fulfilled, and thus to convert a mere postulate into a fact. It will be 
recalled that the postulate as such has been already assumed on p. 151 where I 
say that " ethics assumes . . . that ultimately there is a fundamental unity of 
nature and interests among the several individuals composing society. All 
ethical theories are attempts to justify this assumption." 



REVOLUTIONARY RELATIONS 321 

life may be better or worse regulated ; it may be a relatively 
consistent and effective life or a mere random existence. And 
though new difficulties are constantly arising to disturb its 
equilibrium, yet in the meantime our activities have been organ- 
ised upon a broader basis, and the life process has moved a step 
forward. If we admit that evolution takes place, that the later 
stages of individual and social life are any advance upon the 
earlier, then we shall have to admit that moral problems are in 
some sense solved, and that moral effort is reasonable and 
worth while, even though the results be not all that could 
conceivably be desired. 

5. THE EVOLUTIONARY SIGNIFICANCE OF THE REGULATIVE 
HYPOTHESIS 

Through our analysis of the evolutionary situation we are 
able to see more clearly in what manner the alternative the- 
ories are to be used as regulative hypotheses. It now 
appears that the opposition of theory is not an opposition of 
permanently fixed conceptions, but an opposition of attitude 
toward a constantly developing problem, both sides of which 
are themselves in a constant process of modification and 
development. We have to do, then, not with absolute ideals 
and fixed conditions, but with constantly growing ideals and in- 
definitely adjustable conditions. The evolutionary process ad- 
vances through a constant readjustment between the two factors 
in the situation, — through a reorganisation of conditions to 
meet the ideals and an enlargement of ideals to call for further 
reorganisation ; and, so far as the process includes ourselves, 
the centre or focus of the reorganising activity is to be found 
in us as agents. We have then, from a moral standpoint, to 
regard ourselves as responsible for the success or failure of the 
developmental process. If we acquiesce comfortably in the ex- 
isting state of things, the process will be retarded ; on the other 
hand it will be retarded if we undertake to realise our ideals 
without reference to the existing conditions. The moral atti- 



322 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

tude is therefore a constant endeavour to secure an effective 
adjustment between ideals and conditions. And since ideals and 
conditions are both in. a constant process of development, the 
expression of the moral attitude will be constantly modified by 
the nature of the existing problem, — in other words, by the 
point reached in the reorganisation of human life. It is in 
this process of readjustment that we make use of the alterna- 
tive theories as regulative hypotheses. In the next chapter we 
shall work out the general principle upon which such adjust- 
ment would rest. 



CHAPTER XVIII 
THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 

1. A REVIEW OF THE MORAL SITUATION 

' Before undertaking a practical statement of our working 
hypothesis it will be convenient to take a brief review of the 
moral problem and of the results so far obtained. The moral 
problem, we have seen, is the expression of a conflict between 
our aspirations toward an ideally perfect and complete human 
life and the limiting conditions. From the subjective stand- 
point of the individual it represents a conflict between the 
desire to realise in self the ideal of a perfect rational and 
human being and the necessities imposed by one's physiologi- 
cal organisation. From the objective social standpoint it 
represents a conflict between the demand for an organic unity 
of rational beings and the tendencies toward individual advan- 
tage and disunion, which are again the outcome of our physi- 
ological organisation. 

In this situation the hedonist proposes to ignore the ideal 
considerations and to conform strictly to the conditions. For 
in these conditions, he claims, we discover the real ground of 
things. The world of which we are a part is a world of me- 
chanical forces. It is therefore bound to work itself out in its 
own way and in its own time. No effort of ours will either 
accelerate the process or retard it. Therefore let us study its 
workings, conform to its movements, and be content with the 
comfort and happiness which it offers us. The idealist, on the 
other hand, urges us to ignore the conditions and to devote our- 

323 



324 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

selves immediately to the pursuit of ideal ends. From his 
point of view, it is in the ideals, and not in the conditions, that 
we are to discover the real ground of things. The conditions 
by which we are hemmed in are after all mere negation. They 
represent nothing but the absence of self-consciousness, — or, in 
social terms, nothing but the absence of mutual sympathy and 
understanding. Therefore let us set out immediately and 
directly toward the attainment of the highest personal and so- 
cial ideals. For if we be earnest in our demand for the ideal, 
the limiting conditions are bound to disappear. 

Each of these alternatives, we have seen, has a certain 
measure of practical value, but neither is completely satisfac- 
tory. In reply to the hedonist we may claim that the me- 
chanical conditions do not represent a fixed quantity or an 
impassable limit. The supposedly fixed conditions are them- 
selves in a constant course of development. Those set up by 
the science of one generation are transcended by the science of 
the next. The mechanical world is being made constantly 
more serviceable for ideal ends ; and the human organism is 
becoming constantly more capable of resisting disease, of en- 
during nervous strain, and of conforming to the human will 
generally ; and in this development consciousness is not a mere 
passive spectator but an active agent. We may urge, then, in 
reply to hedonism, that within certain limits, ideal effort is 
clearly practicable and reasonable, for it is by such effort that 
the conditions are modified so as to be more conformable to 
ideal ends. 

To the idealist, on the other hand, we may reply that the 
attainment of ideals is not a question merely of the earnestness 
and sincerity of our devotion. Admitting that all ideals are 
ultimately attainable, we have still to remember that they are 
only to be attained by proceeding in a certain definite manner 
from the standpoint of the present situation. Whatever we do 
we must always start from where we are, and we cannot take 
any course we like and still expect to arrive at the desired 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 325 

end. In other words, we must recognise the fact that, even if 
the conditions place no absolute limits upon the ends to be 
attained, they still prescribe the manner in which attainment 
is brought about. We cannot rest upon the optimistic assump- 
tion that somehow the conditions will admit of the desired end. 
If we would attain any end whatever, we must first make a 
study of the situation in which we stand, and the manner of 
our activity must then be determined by the nature of the 
situation. 

It might seem, then, that we had rejected the only possible 
alternatives. For in the one case we seem to deny that the 
conditions are limited, while in the other case we affirm it ; and 
between these two statements there appears upon first sight to 
be no possible middle ground. But in the last two chapters I 
have tried to show that, though we cannot bring the two ends 
of our problem quite together, still it remains a priori conceiv- 
able that they may be brought together. In chapter xvi it was 
pointed out that the conceptions of a world determined by 
mechanical forces and of a world determined by reason or 
consciousness, upon which the two sides of the problem rest, 
are not logically contradictory but only empirically irreconcil- 
able. The difficulty of bringing them together, of finding our 
ideals implied in the conditions and the conditions implying the 
ideals, may be due only to the limitations of our human 
consciousness. Owing to these limitations we are obliged to 
conceive both of ideals and conditions in merely provisional 
terms and images ; and there is reason to believe that it is the 
provisional and imperfect nature of our terms and images which 
cause our ideals to point one way and the conditions another. 
It was then pointed out, in chapter xvii, that both ideals and 
conditions are after all merely transitional aspects of the evolu- 
tionary process. Neither represent fixed quantities. Both are 
defined with reference to the point at which we stand in the 
evolutionary process ; and their apparent contradiction repre- 
sents the difficulty of passing from the point reached in the 



326 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

organisation of our world to a point of further and more com- 
prehensive organisation. 

Now we may assume that the world progresses. The course 
of evolution may be uneven, and may pause longer before some 
difficulties than before others, but our growth is never perma- 
nently obstructed. Accordingly, we may believe that each of 
the difficulties encountered, each contradiction between ideals 
and conditions, is ultimately temporary and unreal. And we 
shall probably never meet with a difficulty that may not be 
to some degree overcome by intelligence and earnest effort. 
Nevertheless, we have no ground for believing that we shall 
ever be without difficulty, or permanently in less difficulty than 
now attends us. For the demands of our nature appear to be 
unlimited, and as long as life continues there will be a moral 
problem. 

The practical significance of the moral situation may then be 
summarised as follows : Our human life is permanently prob- 
lematic. We never reach a point either of complete realisation 
of ideals or of complete conformity to conditions. At every 
point of our existence we stand between two immediately con- 
tradictory demands, those of our ideals and those of our con- 
ditions. Theoretically, the two ought not to be ultimately 
incompatible, but practically they cannot be wholly reconciled ; 
and our duty will not admit of an exclusive attention to either. 
It must lie, then, in the best possible mutual adjustment; 
and the best possible adjustment must be that which, since 
both demand satisfaction, affords the greatest satisfaction to 
each. 

2. PROGRESS AND HAPPINESS 

Before attempting to define the best possible adjustment 
it will be well, even at the risk of repetition, to take a further 
view of the moral situation, translating the conflicting factors 
into the more concrete conceptions of ' progress ' and ' happi- 
ness.' The question is, what is the final significance of these 
conceptions, and how do we conceive them to be related in the 
light of our previous analysis ? 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 327 

Turning first to the conception of happiness it may be re- 
called that the emphasis laid upon sensuous satisfaction, in 
hedonistic theory and in the popular conception of happiness, 
is to be regarded in its last analysis as a merely approximate 
concrete expression of a more abstract and more clearly justi- 
fiable ethical motive. Hedonism, in its final significance, stands 
for the axiomatic proposition that our efforts must be firmly 
based upon the immediate and actual state of things, 1 that 
whatever we attempt to realise must be substantially realised. 
Now ' substantial realisation ' at once suggests the conception 
of happiness or enjoyment, for it would seem that if we are 
to realise the substance of things and not their mere shadows, 
we must not only live in the expectation of a future good but 
at the same time appropriate the good contained in the present, 
— in other words, we must enjoy each period of life while it is 
here. It is this actual enjoyment, in the sense of realisation, 
that the hedonist calls happiness, or contentment. And his 
meaning is, if anything, made clearer by the tendency to trans- 
late contentment into sensuous satisfaction. When we think 
of abstracting the good out of present conditions, we turn at 
once to the body and the senses, for it is they that offer the 
greatest certainty of immediate and actual realisation. These 
sensuous enjoyments are of course insufficient, for others would 
be required even to fill out the content of the present. But the 
motive underlying them is fundamentally valid. If life is to be 
real and substantial, contentment of some sort is necessary. 
A life made up of a constant strain toward the future and a 
constant contempt for the present — a life which were exclu- 
sively a process of realisation and never the substance of things 
realised — would be a vain shadow. It is this that impresses 
the hedonist when, to use the traditional phrase, he ' sits down 
in a cool hour ' and arrives at the conviction that a life without 
happiness would be of no value. 

But now, assuming that our nature calls not only for happi- 

1 Bradley, Ethical Studies, beginning of Essay iii, also p. 113. 



328 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

ness but for progress, — that we are not satisfied with extracting 
the good of each moment while we have it, but constantly look 
forward to a greater good in the future, — how are we still to 
provide for the interests of happiness ? What is the meaning 
of happiness for a being which is also progressive ? Evidently 
this : each stage of our existence must be drained of its 
immediate possibilities before a further stage is entered upon. 
Or, to use the evolutionary conceptions of our last chapter, 
each stage of our existence must be fully organised, all the 
factors and tendencies then operative must be coordinated into 
a solid and compact system, before any further ideal progress is 
attempted. The higher ideals must be allowed to arise out of 
the perfected organisation of the present itself; they must 
never be forced or strained for. A constant movement toward 
a higher ideal will then at the same time be a state of constant 
contentment with the present. 

Turning now, in the second place, to the conditions of 
progress, it is evident that considerations of mere progress 
call for the earliest possible realisation of the highest ideals 
within our range of appreciation. Progress considered alone 
commands us to aim directly at perfection without regard to 
the pain and struggle involved in the effort or to the possibilities 
of more immediate good which may thereby be sacrificed. 
And even though we foresee that the situation in the future 
will be the same as it is now, that however far we go there 
will always be a higher perfection to be striven for, the com- 
mand of progress would still be the same : do not stop to 
realise and enjoy, but press constantly on. 

We find, however, that these enjoyments are, to an extent, 
conditions of progress itself. The demand for progress is con- 
ditioned by the necessities of happiness. We cannot, if we 
would, live a life of constant pain, for pain would shortly put an 
end to life itself. Evidently, then, in the interests of progress 
itself, some concessions must be made to happiness. Each 
stage of our growth must at least be sufficiently organised to 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 329 

permit of further growth. You cannot build higher until your 
lower foundations are sufficiently solid ; otherwise your struc- 
ture will fall to pieces, and you will find yourself back at the 
beginning. So it is with the structure of human life. A man 
who is insufficiently grounded in the rudiments of his profes- 
sional education is likely to fail in it, and even if he make good 
his ignorance by application in later life, he will find that he has 
at any rate incurred an unnecessary waste of time, and hence a 
loss of ultimate accomplishment. So too of the moral life. You 
cannot expect to cultivate a broad generosity of a genuine sort 
until you have schooled yourself in the narrower lines of family 
and household duties. Accordingly, it appears that progress 
will of itself demand a certain degree of substantial realisation. 
Each higher stage requires a sufficiently realised lower stage. 
The progress which is certain to succeed must to an extent be 
the natural and spontaneous outgrowth of a completed and 
perfected organisation of present tendencies and impulses. 

Now, in view of these relations, it might seem that the 
most complete and perfect organisation of present tenden- 
cies ought to be just that which would most effectively con- 
tribute to further progress ; theoretically it would seem that 
the firmer the foundation, the more massive would be the 
structure. Or, the more perfect the health of the child, the 
nobler would be the character and the attainments of the man. 
Every impulse satisfied ought to be a contribution to the effect- 
iveness of the organism and the character of the agent; any 
impulse left unsatisfied should be a source of physical and 
moral weakness. Therefore, it might be said, the conditions of 
happiness and of self-realisation are fundamentally identical. 
If at each moment you realise your whole life, if you maintain a 
constant condition of complete inner harmony, you not only 
enjoy a constant contentment with the present, but realise to 
the full the possibilities of moral growth. 

But, as was pointed out in the last chapter, this theoretical 
identity of moral requirements cannot be established upon a,n 



33Q HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

empirical basis or realised in our practical life. Admitting 
even a considerable measure of identity between the demands 
of happiness and these of progress, we still may not assume that 
the identity is complete. 1 We cannot safely assume that what- 
ever completes our enjoyment of immediate conditions will 
further our progress toward something better. We are all of us 
familiar with the type of a man who realises the ideal of animal 
contentment. He is known commonly as ' the good liver ' ; 
and there are good livers who seek animal satisfaction with the 
same calm steadiness and unity of purpose as that shown in the 
highest developments of moral life. To say either that these 
men are in fact living along the line of the greatest moral prog- 
ress, or that in the absence of higher aims they secure no real 
contentment, — that their self-satisfaction is after all rendered 
thin and empty by the thought of higher possibilities neglected, 
— seems to be a perversion of experience in favour of theory. 
And on more general grounds, it seems impossible to recon- 
cile the unity of progress and happiness with the special condi- 
tions of our existence. The theory of moral unity assumes, with 
the theory of the unity of the world in general, a definite com- 
pleteness within the object. For example, the physical law of 
conservation of energy assumes that there is a certain fixed 
quantity of energy in the world ; otherwise the law could not be 
stated as a fact. In the same manner the theory which identifies 
completeness of immediate satisfaction with the greatest possi- 
bilities of moral progress assumes that there is a definitely com- 
plete self, which may be wholly realised. But in neither case can 
the completeness be found within the limits of our experience. 
The quantity of energy present in the world at any moment can- 
not possibly be measured. Similarly, if, to use a biological met- 
aphor, you take a cross-section of the self at its present stage 

1 " The attempt to establish an absolute coincidence between virtue and 
happiness is in ethics what the attempting to square the circle or to discover 
perpetual motion is in geometry or physics." — LESLIE STEPHEN, The Science 
of Ethics, p. 430. 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 331 

of development, and preserve it, you will never reach the end of 
your enumeration of its contents. Suppose, then, I undertake to 
realise my present self with absolute completeness before attempt- 
ing to reach a higher plane. The interests to be satisfied are 
infinite. There are my professional interests, my family inter- 
ests, my love of the arts, of literature, of travel, and a long list 
of other interests never to be completely enumerated. The neg- 
lect of any of them leaves my life to some degree incomplete. 
How I long, for example, when I hear one of Beethoven's so- 
natas finely rendered, to be able to do it for myself. And how I 
envy the man with perfect animal health who, according to Mr. 
Spencer's picture of him, sleeps soundly every night, and springs 
lightly out of bed in the morning, eager to take up the duties of 
the day. But if I were to undertake to complete myself in all 
these respects, I should never arrive at any higher plane of de- 
velopment. I should be obliged, among other things, to neg- 
lect those professional interests which, from the standpoint of 
my station and its duties, have the higher moral value, and which 
are for me the chief conditions of higher moral development. 
In order to move forward, I am obliged to favour certain por- 
tions of myself to the disadvantage of other portions. If I un- 
dertook to satisfy my present self in its entirety, I should never 
grow at all. For that matter I should not even complete the 
present. 

Granting, then, that both happiness and progress stand for a 
certain degree of substantial attainment, we have to admit that 
there is a difference between the degree of attainment required 
for the greatest progress and that required for the greatest en- 
joyment of happiness. And since the requirements of a moral 
life include both progress and happiness, any course that we 
may take will be of necessity a compromise. We have then 
to determine what sort of a compromise best meets the demands 
of both. 



332 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 



3. THE CONCEPTION OF A MAXIMUM SUSTAINED PROGRESS 

It seems to me that the path to a rational attitude lies through 
a consideration of the following : One of the most obvious facts 
of our individual and social development is its want of balance 
and regularity. We find that while, on the whole, the race 
history is marked by progress, yet the progress is irregular and 
unsustained. It is only through alternating stages of advance 
and retreat, of action and reaction, of progress and degenera- 
tion, that we arrive finally at a permanently improved con- 
dition. A generation of high ideals and noble purposes is 
succeeded by another in which all the moral forces seem to 
have been exhausted ; and it is only when the decay of moral 
purpose has itself become unbearable that men rouse them- 
selves and by renewed effort regain the position they have lost 
and make it secure. The alternation is more striking in some 
races and nations than in others. There are some in whom the 
development of political liberty has been relatively constant 
and sustained, while in others it has been marked by a con- 
stant action and reaction between despotism on the one hand, 
and on the other, an attempt to establish an impossible demo- 
cratic ideal. The alternation varies also in the different indi- 
vidual lives. Its extreme manifestation is a form of moral 
hysteria, in which the moral attitude is a constant alternation 
between a feverish enthusiasm for the immediately impossible 
and a despairing and spiritless submission to prevalent con- 
ditions. But we are all more or less hysterical. To none of 
us is it given to maintain a constantly patient and calm judg- 
ment and a constantly steady courage. We are continually 
misled, either by our enthusiasms, which tempt us to overlook 
the difficulties of our situation, or by our fits of exhaustion and 
discouragement, in which we fail to estimate the conditions up 
to the point of their real possibilities. And, if anything, the 
difficulties become greater as we grow in moral earnestness. 
It is easy to avoid instability where our ideals are not exact- 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 333 

ing, and when the conflict between ideals and conditions is 
not very intense. But for one who is deeply in earnest, whose 
ideals are strenuous, and for whom the moral conflict is vital 
and personal, stability and control will necessarily be difficult. 

Now it is in this aspect of the situation that we arrive at 
the most concrete summation of the moral problem. It is the 
instability of our moral life which is the chief source both of 
retarded development and of unhappiness. If we were with- 
out any serious purpose whatever, there would be no loss of 
happiness in an unstable existence. We might then yield to 
every changing impulse and derive enjoyment from all. But 
for creatures with serious moral aims, as it is more or less 
our nature to be, nothing could be more conducive to misery 
than a want of steadiness and fixity of purpose. And under 
most circumstances, and for most natures, nothing could be 
more ineffective for the ultimate realisation of higher ends. 
It will be said, by those who so far deny the unity of moral aims 
as to pronounce them wholly self-contradictory, that the situa- 
tion as we have it is inevitable. It is through action and re- 
action that evolution takes place ; it is only by neglecting the 
conditions and running counter to them that we learn what 
they are ; it is only through suffering and disappointment that 
we are led to something better. And under the conditions of 
our human existence, this will be always to some extent true. 
But to admit it to be unconditionally true is inconsistent with 
any conception of ourselves as moral agents. Granting that, 
in practice, we learn through failure and disappointment, still 
to wait for failure to teach us, to go ahead until we are turned 
back by brute force, is a morally absurd attitude. If there 
is nothing for it but to be tossed to and fro by passion and cir- 
cumstance until finally we are driven onward, it is useless to 
speak of duty and morality. As moral agents we must assume 
that by taking thought we may regulate our conduct more 
effectively than it would be regulated by circumstances. 

It may be urged^ by those who conceive happiness as such 



334 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

to be morally unnecessary, that there is no special virtue in a 
regular progress as such. It will be said that a man who passes 
through the most striking and most constant alternations of 
moral courage and moral cowardice, and whose life is one 
long course of nervous unrest may, nevertheless, have at the 
end a higher development to his own credit, and at the same 
time be able to show a greater influence upon the development 
of moral life in his community ; his life would then be, from 
a purely idealistic standpoint, a better life than that in which the 
moral purpose were more regular. But, granting the result to 
be possible (and we cannot declare it to be impossible), can we 
conceive it to be really worth the sacrifice ? If we could show 
that by sacrificing the regularity and happiness of one's own 
life, one introduced a greater measure of adjustment into the 
communal life, the individual sacrifice might conceivably be 
justified. But this is not the natural result. A man whose 
moral enthusiasms are unstable is usually a highly disturbing 
factor in the happiness of his community, however he may 
contribute to the improvement of its moral ideals. We might 
then, perhaps, justify the sacrifice for all if, with Mr. Spencer, 
we could look forward to a final state of completed develop- 
ment and a final condition of complete and permanent enjoy- 
ment of happiness. But as we have seen, nothing of the sort 
is in prospect. Whatever contentment is to be got — whatever 
sense of ends realised — must be sought within the realis- 
ing process itself. And when we keep this in mind it seems 
clear that we cannot justify a constant condition of unrest, even 
in the interests of further progress. If there is any good in 
life, it must be to some degree and at some time a present 
good ; it cannot be always a good of the future. 

I believe, then, that the demands of morality will be best 
satisfied (remembering that morality demands both progress 
and happiness, and assuming that neither demand can be fully 
satisfied without some sacrifice of the other), by a course of be- 
haviour regulated with a view to the maximum of sustained 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 335 

progress. By ' sustained ' progress is meant a course of prog- 
ress not interrupted by periods of degeneration, in which 
enthusiasm does not alternate with despair, courage with 
cowardice. Somewhere between a futile striving after the im- 
mediately impossible and an ignoble submission to pain and diffi- 
culty there must be a state of control in which we may keep 
progress toward higher ideals at a constant maximum rate of 
sustained efficiency. The life which maintains such control 
will always be the ideal life under the existing circumstances. 
For the individual it means that life is constantly regulated, 
on the one hand by a high sense of its value and purpose, on 
the other by a careful estimate of his particular situation. 
And the situation will include not only his social and physical 
environment but all his individual capacities, — capacities for 
bodily labour, for the endurance of nervous strain, and even for 
moral courage. The man who best fulfils his individual duty 
is the man who, with regard to all of these conditions, shows 
the most constantly steady and clear judgment. For society 
it means a similarly regulated political and economic develop- 
ment, — a development which proceeds always from the point 
reached in social organisation and in which the attempt at 
reorganisation is controlled at every point by the possibilities 
of maximum permanent improvement. 1 

To appreciate the fundamental and essentially moral signifi- 
cance of sustained effort one should carefully note the different 
types of moral life. Looking at men from the standpoint of their 
attitude toward moral progress you will find at one extreme the 
satisfied sensualist, to whom higher ideals are only an incum- 
brance, and at the other extreme the moral enthusiast, for 
whom no ideals are too high to be attainable and who treats 
the careful calculations of the practical man with lofty con- 
tempt. At first sight the two extremes appear to represent 
very different moral types ; and no doubt we are accustomed to 

1 See Marett's paper on The Normal Self and Schiller's On the Concep- 
tion 'Eptpyeia' AKivri<rLas, Mi?id, October, 1900. 



336 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

overlook the futilities of the enthusiast in a consideration of 
the supposed purity of his motives. But upon further study 
it is clear that the enthusiast is nothing but a sensualist in 
disguise. The sensualist himself would say of him, " He loves 
excitement, and so do I ; only we take it in different forms." 
And the comparison is unquestionably just. A certain meas- 
ure of ideal enthusiasm is part of an effective moral life, but 
the extreme enthusiast is morally unstable. His contempt for 
practical considerations renders him at the same time unmind- 
ful of the common rules of honesty ; you have not the same 
guarantee that he will return borrowed money that you may 
have of the plainer man. And in the end this contempt for 
ways and means proves only that he is not interested in 
practical results for themselves, but only so far as the thought 
of them arouses a pleasurable glow of enthusiasm. Conse- 
quently any object may conceivably serve his end ; and after 
realising himself at one moment in the highest nights of a 
glowing imagination, he may the next moment be realising 
himself in the lowest depths of animal gratification. Evidently 
the genuinely moral man is neither the moral enthusiast nor 
the sensualist. Rather is it he who best combines a high ideal 
with perfect self-control, — who is animated by a calm and sus- 
tained ideal enthusiasm, and at the same time always mindful 
of the possibilities of substantial results. 

It is evident that the maintenance of a balance between ideal 
aims and practical possibilities will involve a constant process 
of correction. The balance will be constantly disturbed by a 
leaning to one side or the other, and it would be unsafe to 
regard either side as the side of safety. The side to be empha- 
sised, either in personal or social life, will depend upon the 
situation existent at the time. To illustrate — we find our- 
selves in the position of the quartermaster of a steamship, who 
is instructed to keep his ship headed for a given point on the 
compass. He finds his compass constantly shifting to one side 
or the other, and he is constantly correcting the variation by 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 337 

an appropriate turn of the wheel. We face a similar situation 
in our moral life. At one time we are outrunning our capaci- 
ties, at another time not living up to them ; and the emphasis 
required for correction will vary with the situation of the mo- 
ment. The successful moral life will then be that in which 
the agent is constantly alive to his situation and in which the 
variations from the ideal course are kept constantly at a 
minimum. 

4. MORAL HEALTH 

It is this balance of motives that we have in mind when we 
define the moral life as the healthy or normal life. I have re- 
frained from using these terms hitherto because their common 
usage, and even their philosophical usage, is so vague as to 
render them unsafe except when specially defined. But having 
now completed our definition of the moral life, its identity with 
the healthy and normal life will at once be clear. Though 
hedonism identifies happiness with physical health, and phys- 
ical with moral health, yet between moral health and happi- 
ness there is an important shade of distinction. For happiness 
implies a relatively passive condition of animal contentment, 
while it is recognised that the truly healthy life is a life of activ- 
ity and thus contains the idealistic element of manly struggle 
against tendencies to degeneration. The morally healthy life is, 
therefore, not the distinctly animal life, nor is the normal life a 
mere self-satisfied mediocrity, as the use of the term might often 
lead us to believe. What we really emphasise in the healthy life 
is its contrast to feverish and uncertain enthusiasm. The healthy 
life is above all things a well-balanced life, as opposed to one 
which is neurotic and hysterical. The commands of moral 
health may then be said to be these : keep your ideals pure, 
and keep your feet constantly on firm ground. Or, as they have 
just been formulated : press constantly forward toward the 
attainment of your highest ideals, but do not attempt a higher 
flight than you can permanently sustain. 



338 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

Leaving aside for the moment all considerations of theory, let 
us ask ourselves what men in general would regard as a dis- 
tinctively healthy life under the familiar social conditions. Evi- 
dently a healthy life would be one in which enjoyments and 
responsibilities were constantly proportioned and adjusted to 
one's stage of development. This would mean that as a child 
one would enter with full vigour into childish sports and games, 
responsible only for the duties which profitably belong to child- 
hood, and undisturbed by the graver responsibilities to be as- 
sumed later. In youth and early manhood the responsibilities 
would naturally be increased ; but still there would be a period 
of play, in the broader sense, a period in which the instinct for 
bodily activity, which expresses itself in athletic sports and in the 
love of rough, out-door life would receive a reasonable amount 
of expression, in which also there would be fair scope for the 
expression of the romantic side of the sex instinct as it shows 
itself in the social gaieties of young men and women before they 
think seriously of the question of marriage. All of these enjoy- 
ments are part of a complete and well-proportioned human life. 
Then, in a healthy life, there would be a proper time for mar- 
riage, a point at which one were sufficiently mature to feel the 
need of home and family and to appreciate the responsibilities 
of parenthood, yet youthful enough to enter the marriage state 
with a full measure of joy and enthusiasm, and again sufficiently 
young to be a companion as well as parent to one's children. 
Finally, and above all, there is an ideally healthy time for assum- 
ing life's heavier responsibilities and burdens ; it is the period of 
mature life, when the taste for the activities of youth is beginning 
to die out, when one begins to look instinctively for more impor- 
tant and difficult tasks, and when both mind and body are dis- 
ciplined for the endurance of labour. 

Parallel to the more personal side of moral health there is 
the industrial and social side. The healthy condition is that 
of the man who is steadily advancing in industrial or profes- 
sional efficiency, and in dignity and honour among his fellows, 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 339 

yet at the same time reasonably content with the social and 
industrial opportunities which his environment offers him. 
Under the older conditions where a man beginning as an ap- 
prentice might hope, through industry and increased profi- 
ciency, to become not only a journeyman in his trade but 
eventually the independent proprietor of a small business, the 
conditions of industrial health were clearly present ; and it is 
no doubt a question as to what would be a healthy career under 
the present changed conditions. It is clear, however, that the 
healthy attitude is neither that of the stolid wage-earner who 
looks neither to increased proficiency nor to an advance in 
honour and profit, nor that of the restless dreamer who, despis- 
ing the opportunities offered him, looks for a stroke of for- 
tune by which he will be suddenly translated into another social 
sphere. There are no doubt cases of exceptional ability where 
the limitations created by education and social surroundings 
may profitably be ignored, but on the whole they will be few. 
For most men the conditions both of personal growth and of 
happiness are to be found in an acceptance of the social and 
industrial opportunities offered them. It is a healthy industrial 
condition when a man can satisfy his love of good work and 
his ambition for personal improvement in the duties which his 
position offers him. And though a self-respecting man will 
refuse to regard himself as the natural inferior of any other, 
still it is a healthy social attitude when a man looks for honour 
and dignity in the respect of his immediate fellows, and when, 
instead of forsaking those with whom he is allied by blood, 
education, and early associations, he places his social ambitions 
in the cultural advancement and higher social status of his own 
group. 

This sketch, though very imperfect, will probably neverthe- 
less be sufficient to illustrate in a concrete fashion the adjust- 
ment in a healthy and normal life between the conditions of 
happiness and those of ideal progress. There is at every point 
a certain healthy balance between responsibilities and enjoy- 



34o HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

ments. As moral beings we cannot at any time accept a life 
of mere enjoyment, unqualified by the presence of duty and 
responsibility. Even the child is not satisfied with play alone. 
His moral nature demands that play should be accompanied 
by some form of work. And for that matter his play itself 
would not be wholly satisfying if it were conceived by him as 
mere play. His interest in it is due largely to the fact that the 
activities which his elders call ' play ' are for him matters of 
weight and importance. On the other hand, it is clear that 
this healthy graduation of responsibilities is the condition which 
is most favourable for sustained effectiveness in after life. A 
child who fails to secure the enjoyments appropriate to child 
life and who, as a child, is saddled with the responsibilities of 
an adult, is thereby handicapped for the performance of the 
duties of mature life. When the time comes at which he should 
be normally most effective and most productive, his courage and 
enthusiasm are already diminished by the fulfilment of an un- 
due weight of responsibility at an immature period. This is 
true of all enjoyments that belong to a healthy existence. A 
man who in childhood has never enjoyed the protecting care 
of home and parents, who has never known what it is to be 
youthful and to share the enthusiasms of youth, or who has 
never known what it is to be in love and to be loved, is so 
much the worse for it ; he is just so much the weaker when 
he encounters the difficulties of mature life. 

Now it is clear, of course, that the conditions of health are 
not altogether within our power. Something depends, in the 
first place, upon the original constitution of our nature. Our 
impulses are from the start not altogether fitted to work to- 
gether. For example, there are the animal and the romantic 
aspects of the sex instinct ; the animal instinct develops 
early and calls imperatively for satisfaction long before a man 
knows himself sufficiently well to safely bind himself in mar- 
riage ; and the resulting internal conflict is to a degree both 
physically and morally unhealthy. And in some natures such 



THE PRACTICAL MORAL ATTITUDE 341 

conflicts are unavoidably sharper and more intense than in 
others. Then again something depends upon external con- 
ditions, which are also not altogether under our control. I 
cannot make it certain that when an instinct comes to matur- 
ity, it shall find a fitting object in which to express itself. 
Nor can I altogether adjust my responsibility to my maturity, 
for the graver responsibilities may be prematurely thrust upon 
me, and I cannot very well, on the ground of immaturity, refuse 
to recognise a duty which clearly comes my way. For ex- 
ample, under normal conditions the care and education of 
younger brothers and sisters should not be intrusted to a girl 
of fifteen, but if no one else accepted the responsibility, she 
could not reasonably decline it on the ground of her youth. 
But in the face of all these limitations there is a certain meas- 
ure of control within our power. Given a particular set of con- 
ditions, there is a certain order of duties most favourable for 
sustained efficiency. I may at any point rest contentedly 
upon what is done and yield myself to present enjoyment ; I 
may turn to the next immediate duty ; or I may neglect the 
latter in favour of duties with which I am not at present con- 
cerned. Among these three possibilities it is the man who 
with constant care chooses the next immediate duty, and with 
constant industry performs it, who best realises the ideal of a 
normal and healthy life. 1 

1 For theories of moral progress see Alexander, Moral Order and Prog- 
ress; Dewey, The Study of Ethics, A Syllabus; Muirhead, Elements 
of Ethics. On the conception of moral health see Leslie Stephen, The 
Science of Ethics . See also Taylor, The Problem of Conduct, ch. v; Bradley, 
Ethical Studies, Essays v and vi and Concluding Remarks. 



CHAPTER XIX 

CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE MORAL ATTITUDE 

It will render our formulation of the moral attitude some- 
what more definite if we spend a closing chapter in concrete 
illustration. The illustrations which follow are not intended to 
constitute a system of conduct, yet they are probably sufficiently 
varied to cover the more important aspects of the moral life. 

1. THE DUTIES OF CITIZENSHIP 

Among the many problems which occupy us to-day, probably 
none is more perplexing to a thoughtful man than the problem 
of his duty as citizen toward public policy. And among the 
many questions of public policy there is none which is now of 
such vital importance as that commonly defined as the ' social 
problem,' — the question, namely, as to how far society is to be 
reorganised upon a more or less socialistic basis. At the 
present time there are probably few candid and intelligent men 
who will deny that a problem exists. The concentration of 
power in the form of wealth has reached a point where it is 
clearly dangerous, if not to our material welfare, at any rate to 
our personal liberties. 1 The question is, therefore, not whether 
we shall advocate — or accept — some measure of reorganisa- 
tion, but what manner and method of reorganisation should be 
adopted, and what would be the attitude of a conscientious citizen 
toward the matter of reorganisation in general. It is the last 
part of this question which will occupy us here. The first part, 

1 Ch. xiv, 3. 
342 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 343 

being a question of detail, belongs to economics rather than to 
ethics ; and at any rate it could not be dealt with here. 

Now in the matter of personal attitude we are confronted 
with three possibilities. There is an ultra-conservative attitude 
which refuses to do anything, an ultra-progressive attitude 
which proposes to replace the present order by a wholly new 
order, and a liberal attitude which proposes through tentative 
experiment to bring about a gradual reorganisation upon 
the basis of the present order. The ultra-progressive is the 
attitude, generally speaking, of the socialists, using the term 
' socialist' in its narrower and more popular sense. Socialism, 
we may say, is idealism applied to the social question. Here, 
as elsewhere, the idealist is marked by a refusal to consider 
present conditions. Whatever their other differences, there is 
a point upon which nearly all socialists agree, namely, the utter 
rottenness of the present organisation of society. As a result 
they are rarely interested in present political issues. For them 
these are never the real issues. The real issue is not the trust 
question, nor the tariff question, nor the question of imperial- 
ism, but the question of the organisation of society as a whole. 
To consider any of the immediately pressing questions is to 
waste our time upon side issues. Accordingly, a socialist more 
commonly refuses to cooperate in any attempt to reform the 
existing laws. In his mind this is merely patching up a rotten 
fabric. 1 

If our formulation of the moral attitude is correct, both the 
ultra-conservative and the ultra-progressive attitudes are funda- 
mentally immoral. The immoral quality of the former is self-evi- 
dent. And that of the latter should not be difficult to estimate. 

1 In some sense every liberally minded man of to-day may be called a 
socialist, and the above will probably be unjust to many who bear the name. 
The term is used in the narrower sense for the same reason that many of 
liberal tendencies refuse to apply it to themselves, — because there is a marked 
difference in temper and attitude between the socialistic theorist and agitator 
and one who, while admitting that radical changes will eventually be necessary, 
prefers to begin with the needs and conditions of the present. 



344 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

We tend to overlook the socialistic disregard of present con- 
ditions in view of the ideals which socialists aim to realise. 
But the social question is not merely a question of ideals. And 
for that matter those who call themselves socialists have no mo- 
nopoly of socialistic ideals ; it may be regarded as the growing 
sentiment of to-day that only in some form of socialistic (or, at 
least, more socialistic) organisation will a better condition of so- 
ciety be found. The practical question of duty relates, however, 
to the policy through which social reforms may be profitably 
established. And here it seems that a proposal to sweep away 
the present system and to introduce another which is wholly new 
and untried must always be the outcome of a certain disregard of 
the complexity of conditions which a social order has to meet. 
Any one who has given his attention to mechanical invention 
knows well enough that it is impossible to anticipate in his 
drawing all the conditions to be met by his machine. Success 
is attained only through cautious and tentative experiment, one 
modification being followed by another until all the conditions are 
met. Now the social organism is incomparably more complex 
than any machine that was ever devised. And the present 
order itself is the fulfilment of conditions too complex for any 
one successfully to analyse. Admitting, for example, that the 
trust system is a system of extortion and that it constitutes a 
grave political danger, still you have to remember that it is 
through this system that we obtain the necessities of life. 
And it may be that through this system they are more 
efficiently supplied than by any methods which preceded it. 
This is the feature of the situation which radical policies tend 
constantly to ignore. It would be impossible to construct a 
priori another system which could be relied upon to do as well. 
This does not mean that we are quietly to acquiesce in the 
present order, nor yet that we are to allow the social develop- 
ment to take its ' natural ' course — for we as members of society 
and moral agents have something to say with regard to the 
course it shall take — but merely that no substantial reform is 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 345 

to be expected except through the gradual and careful modi- 
fication of present conditions. 

Substantial social advancement can only be a matter of 
growth, — that is to say, the newer system must be in some 
sense a continuation of the old and not a revolutionary sub- 
stitution. Generally speaking, a revolution is the worst way 
out of a difficulty. It sweeps away the existing organisation 
without an adequate preparation for anything to take its place, 
and, in the period of disorganisation which follows, society 
becomes a prey to demagogues and adventurers. And in the 
end it fails really to solve the problem ; for revolution means 
commonly that action is taken before the time for action is 
ripe, before the cultural conditions have been reached upon 
which the new order may be successfully maintained. This was 
shown clearly enough in the French Revolution. Probably no 
movement has ever been instituted with fairer social ideals or 
resulted in a short time in a lower depth of social degradation. 
It turned out that the French as a whole were unprepared for 
democratic government; they had not yet developed the in- 
telligence and self-control, the spirit of reasonableness and 
toleration, upon which the success of democratic movements 
must ever depend. This does not mean that there are no 
cases where a sudden and violent change could conceivably 
be justified, for there are times when social evils have become 
so concentrated as to admit of no other remedy. But of all 
remedies for social evils a revolution is the last and worst. 

It may of course be claimed that the present is one of those 
crises where none but radical measures can be used. And no 
sufficient answer could be made to the claim within the limits 
of our present discussion. But we have to remember that 
the problematic character of the moral and social situation did 
not arise with us and will not end with us. The recognition 
of this fact is a highly important factor in determining the 
moral attitude as a whole. When we remember that every 
man has his moral problem and every generation its social 



346 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

problem, and that, judged from the immediate standpoint of 
the agent, one problem is about as big and as difficult as an- 
other, it becomes much less likely that our own situation is 
to any serious degree exceptional, or that the solution is not 
largely to be found in the improvement of conditions already 
established. Now when we turn to the present situation, it may 
perhaps be readily admitted that existing institutions (such as 
the present definition of property) are in need of thorough 
revision, but it is at the same time clear that the existing in- 
stitutions offer of themselves a large measure of relief which is 
not utilised. In other words, we are not yet living up to the 
institutions that we have. It is a common practice to speak 
of the trusts as oppressing the people. But an impartial in- 
quirer might well ask how this could possibly be true of a land 
where every man is a citizen and is allowed to vote. And the 
answer brings us back to the fact that the great majority of 
voters are too narrow-minded to see through personal and party 
prejudices, too unintelligent to get at the real situation, and 
have too little moral insight to distinguish an honest man from 
a rogue. They are thus very largely at the mercy of the party 
leaders. But if this is an evil under present conditions, what 
would it be under institutions which would, if anything, call 
for a choice of far more responsible and intelligent public 
officials than we have at present ? It is evident, of course, that 
we cannot postpone the reformation of institutions until men 
are perfectly intelligent, but it is equally clear that the first 
condition of substantial reform is some general intelligence 
with regard to civic duties ; and this intelligence will not be 
developed except through the medium of immediate issues. 
We have further to remember, in dealing with the social 
problem, that a knowledge of conditions is necessary not only 
for substantial results but for ideally correct results. The so- 
cial reformer seeks ideal justice, but justice is necessarily retro- 
spective. To take a simple illustration, if a thief has stolen my 
watch and I afterwards find him with it, I am clearly justified 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 347 

in reclaiming it without paying an indemnity. But if I find it 
upon the person of another who has purchased it in perfect 
good faith, using reasonable precautions, the case is different. 
If I claim that he is responsible for any loss that may come to 
him through the dishonesty of those from whom he buys, he 
may justly retort that I am responsible for allowing my prop- 
erty to be stolen and to get into the market. The truth is 
that we are both the victims of unfortunate circumstances, and 
justice would demand that each bear a share in the loss. We 
find the same relations in the social problem. Granting, for 
example, with the single-taxers, that land is properly public 
property and should never have passed into private hands, still 
it remains true that such private ownership has been recognised 
as perfectly good ; and on the basis of this recognition men 
have bought land with money that was in every respect hon- 
estly earned. They now find themselves, let us say, in the 
position of innocent purchasers of stolen goods, with society, 
the rightful owner, claiming restitution. It is very evident 
that justice, in the strict sense, is confined neither to one side 
nor the other. If justice is to be done, it must be through 
a careful examination of existing economic conditions. We 
must discover, if possible, what the ownership of land repre- 
sents for those who now hold it, not what it would represent 
under ideal conditions of distribution. And any measure of 
justice that we shall obtain will be a matter of reasonable 
adjustment and compromise. 

It is a very common assumption that an attitude of reason- 
ableness toward existing social conditions shows a want of 
moral fibre. We are likely to assume that the only test of 
morality is to be found in a willingness to suffer ostracism and 
persecution. And of course this is a test one must be ready 
to stand when necessary. But in the meantime the attitude 
of reason and patience is often more difficult as well as more 
effective. It often requires more courage to deal calmly and 
persistently with adverse conditions, to work in harmony with 



348 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

men for whom one has no respect, to preserve an attitude of 
self-control toward corrupt public officials and the influences 
which lie behind them, than to utter an open denunciation of 
the whole system. There is a certain stimulus in open conflict ; 
it gives one a sense of heroism and adds to the situation a dra- 
matic element which makes moral courage relatively easy. It is 
quite a different matter to preserve one's moral courage and 
one's faith in ideals under the prosaic conditions of constant 
sustained effort. 

We may say, then, that except in the most extreme cases, the 
endeavour of a good citizen will be to improve the social con- 
ditions on the basis of the conditions themselves, — to ' purify ' 
the existing political system rather than to overthrow it. The 
good citizen will thus be distinguished, on the one hand, from 
those who refuse to interest themselves in public affairs ; on the 
other hand from those who refuse to recognise existing condi- 
tions. As distinct from the latter he will give his constant 
attention to immediate issues and his active support to all 
movements promising any measure of substantial improve- 
ment. And he will be ready, to some extent, to sacrifice his 
personal convictions in order to cooperate with others. In other 
words, good citizenship, like all other genuine virtues, is a mat- 
ter largely of intelligence and self-control. The good citizen 
will not only look forward to study ideal conditions ; he will 
look carefully at both the past and present to see what point 
we have reached in the evolutionary process and what the next 
step should be from our present standpoint. All of this may 
be done by one whose conception of an ideally just organisa- 
tion of society is far removed from anything we have at 
present. 

2. MY DUTY TO SOCIETY 

In the present section we distinguish the duty which one 
owes to society as a private individual from the duty which one 
owes as a citizen. The two aspects of social duty are often 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 349 

confused, and it is assumed as self-evident that a man ought to 
show in his private practice the same form of behaviour which 
he would seek to have established, legally or otherwise, as bind- 
ing upon all. We hear it said that a rich man who believes 
in an equal distribution of goods ought to set the example by 
distributing his wealth and abandoning the privileges which 
wealth confers. But it does not follow that because a certain 
form of behaviour is desirable when practised by all, it is equally 
desirable when practised by a few. It is possible, for example, 
that the English rule of turning to the left is a better rule of 
the road than our rule of turning to the right, but until the 
better rule were generally established, it would certainly be 
wrong for the individual to put it into practice. 

(a) The Acceptance of Unearned Rewards 

The increase of knowledge with regard to economic con- 
ditions has had the effect, directly or indirectly, of bringing to 
consciousness many difficult moral problems; and one which 
concerns a large number of persons is the question of moral 
attitude toward unearned rewards. Without committing our- 
selves to an economic discussion we may no doubt make the 
distinction between rewards that are earned by service to 
society, and those which come to one merely as the result 
of social conditions; for example, the coal miner, who digs 
the coal out of the earth, performs a social service and un- 
doubtedly earns his wages, while, in comparison, the mine 
owner, who charges the public a profit upon the coal delivered, 
merely derives an advantage from a public need. This is not 
to say that the mine owner renders no service whatever, but 
merely that, so far as his profit represents mere ownership of 
the mine, as distinct from active superintendency, he receives 
a reward without any corresponding service. The distinction 
that we find here may be traced everywhere in the world 
of business. Some profits are earned, some unearned, yet 



35© HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

equally legitimate from the standpoint of present legal and 
social institutions. The farmer is paid for raising wheat for 
public consumption ; the speculator buys wheat and, by merely 
holding it in the face of a public demand, forces the price 
upward ; or he buys land on the edge of a growing city 
and obtains for himself the increase of value created by the 
further growth of the city. On the other hand, as in the case 
of the mine owner, profits earned and unearned are every- 
where found more or less together. And in practice they are 
often not easily distinguishable. For example, the farmer as 
well as the speculator may hold his wheat for a rise in price, 
while, on the other hand, it is not certain that some of the 
speculative activities have no social value. Yet in its broad 
outlines there is a clear distinction between rewards earned and 
unearned. Some rewards represent a fair return for social ser- 
vice, while others represent nothing but accidental advantages 
conferred by social conditions, — advantages which, in a com- 
munity fully conscious of its communal interests, would not be 
allowed to exist. 

Now probably every one will admit that the possibility of 
such advantages should be removed. Whatever be the ethics 
of distribution it is clear that, so far as we are able to distinguish 
earned and unearned rewards, no man should be free to appro- 
priate more than he earns through social service, and all values 
that are the product simply of social development should belong 
to the community through whose activity they have been created. 
It would therefore be the duty of every citizen to endeavour 
to bring about a reorganisation of social institutions upon this 
basis. And, if anything, the duty rests more imperatively 
upon those by whom these private advantages are at present 
enjoyed. We may say, further, that a conscientious man whose 
eyes are open to the situation will prefer not to take up, as a 
life occupation, one in which the returns are mainly of this 
unearned character. But in the meantime there are oppor- 
tunities which arise naturally in the course of the most legiti- 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 351 

mate forms of business. Suppose that, as a farmer, I feel 
reasonably certain that, through a failure of the crops in some 
distant land, the price of wheat is bound to rise to a price that 
will pay me several times for the labour of cultivation, is it 
wrong for me to hold my wheat for the higher price? Or 
suppose that with some capital at my disposal I obtain private 
information regarding certain deposits of coal or oil, is it 
wrong for me to keep my information to myself and profit by 
it? Or again, suppose that I am given 'inside information' 
regarding the course of a projected railway, is it wrong for me 
to profit by it through a quiet purchase of land along the line ? 
A pure idealist would answer all of these questions with an 
unqualified affirmative. If such profits are really unearned, he 
would say, you have no right to touch them. But here, as 
elsewhere, the idealist fails to state just what the alternative 
form of action would be. If a refusal to accept such unearned 
profits would result in bringing society nearer to a condition 
where the appropriation of unearned benefits were impossible, 
such refusal would then be clearly an imperative duty. But it 
is probable that, under present conditions, the benefit which I 
refused to accept would go to another who had done no more 
to earn it than myself. I might then, by refusing to enter the 
transaction, acquit myself of the responsibility of receiving 
unearned rewards, but I should have done nothing to alter 
the institution itself. And if we look at the matter from the 
positive side, it becomes clear that I am in a measure respon- 
sible for the use of opportunities that fall in my path. It is 
true that this argument may be easily abused, yet it has none 
the less a certain validity. If, through a defect in the social 
organisation, opportunities for unearned profits are clearly 
thrown in my way, then I become personally responsible for 
their use, and I do not fulfil my duty by simply passing them 
on to another. The extent of responsibility depends of course 
upon the nature of the circumstances, — upon the directness 
with which the opportunity is offered, upon its call for time 



352 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

and attention, and upon its importance when taken in connec- 
tion with other objects ; for example, an enterprise which would 
be justifiable enough for a merchant would be clearly unjusti- 
fiable for a capable physician if it took him away from his 
practice. 

How, then, is this responsibility to be fulfilled ? To this 
question it is difficult to give a concrete answer; for the 
present organisation of society offers no exact method whereby 
unearned values can be returned to their rightful owners. 
Evidently the responsibility is to be fulfilled mainly through 
an additional measure of service to society as a whole, and 
more especially in an additional effort to remove the defects 
in the social organisation whereby such advantages are made 
possible. On a basis of a genuine morality it would be the 
holders of privileges rather than those deprived of them from 
whom we should expect the more active criticism of existing 
conditions. 

(b) The Administration of Wealth 

The same question is raised by the possession of wealth. 
Without asking whether a proper distribution of wealth would 
be an equal distribution, or whether there should be any 
private property whatever, it is safe to say that the present 
distribution is far from meeting the demands either of justice 
or of social welfare. Leaving out of consideration the im- 
mense sums acquired by notoriously dishonest and predatory 
methods, there are probably few private fortunes, however 
honest the intention with which they were accumulated, which 
do not, in some sense, represent unearned profits derived from 
the exploitation of some public utility, — profits which, in a 
society conscious of its communal interests, could not have been 
accumulated. It therefore goes without saying that it is the 
duty of every citizen, rich or poor, to work for some ultimate 
reorganisation of property rights by which a more equitable 
distribution may be secured and maintained. But, in the mean- 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 353 

time, what ought one to do with the wealth which one happens to 
possess? Let us take an extreme case. Let us suppose that the 
wealth has been inherited from one who acquired it by clearly 
dishonest methods. The idealist would urge the possessor to 
sell all that he has and give to the poor. Many also of a more 
conservative tendency would hold that a man ought not to touch 
wealth that represented the profits of dishonesty and injustice. 
But here again it seems that the possession of wealth, or the right 
of inheritance, brings with it a certain important social responsi- 
bility, a responsibility which is only increased by any doubt with 
regard to the methods by which the wealth has been accumu- 
lated ; and it would seem that an indiscriminate distribution 
of such wealth constitutes an evasion of one's responsibility 
rather than a fulfilment of it. Here, as everywhere, we have to 
consider results. Suppose that the wealth of the country could 
be massed, and then evenly distributed, what would be the re- 
sult? Certainly not any improvement in social conditions ; and 
not any permanent advance toward an equitable distribution. Or 
suppose that a large fortune, which the possessor felt to have been 
dishonestly acquired, were by way of restitution turned into the 
public treasury ; under present conditions the only probable re- 
sult of such action would be a career of public extravagance, for 
the benefit chiefly of politicians and contractors, or at best a 
reduction of taxes for those who chiefly ought to pay, without 
any corresponding benefit to society as a whole. It would 
seem, then, that the possessor of wealth is directly responsible 
for its economical application to intrinsically useful ends. This 
would mean that whatever distribution is made should be made 
through the agency of reliable and responsible persons for pur- 
poses of specific and approved value. It may also mean, ac- 
cording to circumstances, that, during his lifetime, the holder 
retain control of some, and perhaps of all of it. There is no rea- 
son also why he should not live in reasonable comfort, and even, 
within certain limits, reserve for himself advantages which others 
may be unable to enjoy. The whole question of moral attitude 
2 A 



354 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

resolves itself into a question of the use to which these advan- 
tages are applied. The man of wealth, even of moderate wealth, 
has a wide range of superior social opportunity. With his living 
assured and his family provided for, he may take a stand with 
regard to public policy, social abuses, and political corruption, 
which others could not sustain. For the expenses incurred in 
a campaign for social or political reform he has already the 
necessary funds ; and his wealth means in itself a large social 
influence. The greater his advantages the greater must be his 
responsibility. This responsibility is not fulfilled by the contri- 
bution of superfluous income to charitable or educational insti- 
tutions, nor again by a sentimental renunciation of reasonable 
comforts and utilities, but only by a devotion of self as a whole 
and of opportunity as a whole to the cause of permanent human 
improvement. 

(V) The Payment of Services 
Another important problem of this class has reference to the 
payment for services. Without raising the question as to how 
we shall determine the just value of services, it is safe to 
say that it is often far from represented in their market value. 
It is very clear that certain classes of unskilled labour are esti- 
mated at rates which represent neither their cost, in terms of 
effort, nor their contribution to social welfare. And here, as 
before, it goes without saying that it is the duty of every one 
to do what he can to reform the system. But, in view of the 
actual conditions, what am I to do in an individual transaction ? 
Am I to pay for services at their real value or at their market 
value? We may bring the question to a point by a reference 
to the ' sweating system,' which prevails in the manufacture of 
clothing. Under this system work that is highly important 
for the welfare of the community is paid for at rates which will 
support only the most miserable form of existence. It is our 
custom to abuse the clothing manufacturer for paying such 
rates. But it is not clear what else he can do. If, as it is claimed, 
these rates are determined by competition, an employer paying 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 355 

for labour at its objective social value would soon be obliged to 
give up his occupation ; and he would be confronted with a 
similar problem in any other occupation. In the meantime it 
must be noted that, bad as the system is, it fulfils a neces- 
sary want, not only for the consumer, but for the producer. 
Granting that the life of a clothing operative is a miserable one, 
still he must live. Under existing conditions the employer is 
the agency through which the possibility of a livelihood reaches 
him ; and if the employer is to continue to act in this capacity, 
it is necessary that the wages paid should be at least low 
enough to warrant the maintenance of his business upon a 
stable basis. It would seem, then, that if he is to fulfil his re- 
sponsibility, he must continue, as long as the conditions remain 
the same, to pay for labour at less than its objective value. The 
question of duty is here, as before, a question of general atti- 
tude. While the employers of labour plead competition as an 
excuse for low wages, still it is true that under the supposed 
pressure of competition many of them become inordinately rich, 
— which is a clear proof that low wages are not always so 
necessary as it is claimed. And granting that men are forced 
by competition to pay less than a fair value, there is still a 
difference between a necessary highest rate and a possible 
lowest. An employer who viewed his occupation in the light 
of a social responsibility would aim at the former rather than at 
the latter. But, more than this, he would consider it his duty 
as a citizen, and, in view of his knowledge of the conditions, 
his special duty as employer, to give his active support to all 
movements for the establishment of a proper legal standard of 
the conditions under which labour should be employed. Such 
conditions would no doubt limit the possibility of undue profits, 
but they would also limit the forces of competition. It need 
scarcely be said that this is not a very common attitude 
among employers ; as a rule they prefer unrestricted liberty of 
competition, at least so far as competition has to do with reduc- 
ing the price of labour or increasing the task of the labourer. 



356 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

(d) The Social Problem and the Moral Attitude 

In all these relations there is a certain margin of choice be- 
tween the lowest possible moral attitude and the highest which 
is practically effective. The margin is narrower when one acts 
in the private capacity of an individual dealing with other indi- 
viduals than when one acts in the broader capacity of a citizen, 
because in the former situation one is more at the mercy of ex- 
isting social and economic conditions. Yet even in private prac- 
tice the margin of choice is considerable. Granting that it is 
impossible or, on the whole, inadvisable, to give to others what, 
from an ideal standpoint, justly belongs to them, there is still a 
marked difference between the private conduct of one who 
would sincerely prefer an ideal situation and of one who regards 
the existing situation merely as an opportunity for private advan- 
tage. There is a difference in all his individual transactions be- 
tween the man of wealth who regards his private property as a 
public trust, and one who regards it merely as an opportunity for 
further accumulation ; between the employer who has the wel- 
fare of his operatives at heart, and one who thinks of them merely 
as useful instruments ; or, again, between the private purchaser 
who prefers to pay a fair price and one who is looking only for a 
bargain. How far it is right and best for an individual to ignore 
the existing conditions will depend upon the extent of his pub- 
lic influence and upon the extent of cooperation which he may 
expect. We are sometimes warned against attempting any re- 
form in our individual capacity because, it is said, prices and 
markets, and social institutions generally, are the outcome of 
unchangeable economic conditions ; they are the result of the 
invariable law of supply and demand. But the invariable law 
of supply and demand includes the variable factor of human 
desire, since it is human desire that determines the demand. 
We must then assume that the responsibility for economic con- 
ditions rests upon ourselves as moral agents, and to some 
extent upon each as an individual. As an isolated individual 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 357 

my protest against sweat-shop work, and my refusal to purchase 
sweat-shop goods, may have little effect ; it may not pay for the 
trouble and inconvenience and for the effort withdrawn from other 
more fruitful objects. But if I cooperate with a sufficient 
number of other individuals, our united expression of moral 
repugnance (to say nothing of other influences that may be 
exerted) will in the end make it profitable for merchants and 
manufacturers to meet our demands, and will thus alter the 
economic conditions. To the extent that cooperation seems 
probable, it will then be my duty to pay the higher price for 
the work that is better paid, or that is done under the more sani- 
tary conditions. 1 

It is, however, in the exercise of citizenship that the margin 
of choice and opportunity is the greater ; and it is especially 
here that the larger opportunity for substantial social progress 
is in the hands of the favoured individuals. It is therefore upon 
them that the larger responsibility rests. But what the fulfil- 
ment of such responsibility would mean is best shown by 
contrast with the more common attitude. We may accept the 
common argument to the effect that social and economic 
institutions should not be suddenly and rudely disturbed ; we 
have to recognise the impracticable and futile character of many 
of the proposed schemes for social reform ; and perhaps we 
should judge leniently those who simply accept the advan- 
tages which come to them as the inevitable result of our social 
organisation. Yet, in view of the advantages thus enjoyed, we 
ought to expect from them a larger sense of responsibility for 
social improvement ; and in view of the opportunities for sub- 
stantial and permanent results which these advantages confer, 
we ought also to expect a larger measure of actual attainment. 
What we more commonly find is that the possession of advan- 
tage is used as an instrument for the perpetuation and increase 
of advantage. We find, for example, an already too profitable 

1 It should be noted that certain results of this kind have already been accom- 
plished by the Consumers' League. 



358 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

industry using its power to obtain, through a protective tariff/ 
or a subsidy, a still larger measure of profit, and for this purpose 
using all the possible methods of bribery and intimidation. We 
find it also watering its stock, refusing to publish its accounts, 
subsidising the public press, and thus deceiving the public 
from whom the concession is demanded. Transactions of this 
kind are to be traced usually to corporations, the holders of 
whose stock are often not widely known ; and when the hold- 
ings are numerous and widely distributed, the individual stock- 
holders are often not clearly responsible. In some cases they 
are women, leading pure and unselfish lives, actively engaged 
in charities, and innocent of any knowledge of business condi- 
tions. But when we raise the question with individuals of the 
stockholding class, we find it difficult as a rule to arouse any 
protest against the dishonest methods by which their dividends 
are increased. And among the favoured classes generally there 
is a prevalent disposition to deny that any social problem exists, 
and a consequent refusal to admit any question of reform. 
As stated before, the moral question is ultimately a question 
of attitude \ and it is this attitude on the part of many indi- 
viduals of the favoured classes which largely justifies the popular 
execration of the favoured classes as a whole. It is putting the 
matter at its lowest terms to say that if they accept the advan- 
tages which society unwittingly gives them, they should at least 
refrain from using these advantages for the aggravation of 
social abuse. 

(e) The Use of Personal Capacities 

The foregoing problems have been introduced because they 
illustrate most strikingly the personal and moral side of the exist- 
ing social problem. Responsibility for social reform is, how- 
ever, not peculiar to those who belong to the distinctively 
privileged class, — or rather it should be said that the privileged 
class, in the proper use of the term, is of large extent and 
likely to include most of those who give intelligent considera- 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 359 

tion to the broader problems of conduct. Every college grad- 
uate has enjoyed privileges denied to most of his brethren, and, 
generally speaking, these privileges give him an advantage in 
the acquisition of material goods. For that matter, considering 
the large class of men who earn their living by poorly paid 
manual labour, and the educational limits which, among other 
conditions, have restricted them to manual work, every man of 
moderate education and social position may be regarded as 
belonging in a measure to the privileged class. 

But the moral question is not wholly a question of a return 
to society for favours received. The growing complexity of 
social conditions and the growth of reflection upon social rela- 
tions are rendering it increasingly impossible for the individ- 
ual to separate himself and his personality from the society in 
which he lives or to assign any definite limits to his social 
responsibility. In view of the quasi family relation which in a 
measure holds between all men as such it becomes impossible 
to regard my duty to society as limited to a return for value 
received. If all men are my brothers and members of the 
same family, I must be answerable, not merely for what society 
has done for me, but for what I am able to do in the cause of 
social improvement. In other words, I must be in some sense 
responsible to society not only for the advantages conferred by 
social position but for those conferred by superior abilities. 
Every man whose abilities are superior to the meanest may be 
said to enjoy advantages beyond the reach of his less gifted 
brethren. And for every man who is conscious of his kinship 
to his kind it becomes a question as to how far and in what 
manner he ought to use these advantages for the general wel- 
fare of society. 

In facing this problem, we must again distinguish between 
duty to society under ideal social conditions and duty to society 
from the standpoint of one's position in the present social 
organisation. Whether my ends be selfish or social, I must 
to some extent conform to the existing social conditions. Any 



360 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

advantages which these conditions give me constitute for me a 
special social responsibility, and I do not fulfil this responsi- 
bility by simply renouncing them. A physician or a business 
man, who is able to command large rewards for his services 
and refuses to accept more than an average and ordinary fee, 
may indeed reduce his own share of the social product ; but he 
does not in any large sense benefit society ; he simply relieves 
his patients or customers of obligations which in many cases they 
are well able to meet. It is true that even here he may con- 
tribute to the improvement of social standards by restricting 
himself to demands commonly recognised as decent and mod- 
erate in view of the services rendered. It is one thing merely 
to conform to social conditions, and quite another to push one's 
advantage to its extreme limit ; and the least one can do is to 
conform to the established standards of generosity. But there 
are limits to which superior abilities and the advantages con- 
ferred by them can be safely or profitably ignored. And the 
question of duty to society will be a question rather of the use 
to be made of special advantages than of their acceptance or 
rejection. A physician or business man whose income is large 
acquires, through this source itself, a larger freedom and a larger 
opportunity for improving the conditions and raising the moral 
standards within his sphere of activity. He also acquires larger 
opportunities for public service in a broader field. And in the 
end it is the whole attitude of the man toward his situation 
which determines his moral character. It is a question of 
whether he is exerting his powers forward in the direction 
of higher and more generous social conditions or using them 
merely to perpetuate private advantage. 1 

3. MY DUTY TO MY NEIGHBOUR 

In the preceding section we have been considering one's indi- 
vidual duty toward society at large. A word should now be said 
regarding one's duty toward particular individuals. We have 

1 On the subject of this section see Bradley, Ethical Studies, Essay, iv, " My 
Station and its Duties." 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 361 

here the familiar question of selfishness v. self-sacrifice. How 
far ami called upon to prefer my neighbour's good to my own? 
Now it is evident, in considering this question, that something 
must depend upon the relation which I hold toward the neigh- 
bour in question. It cannot be for the good of men in general 
that individuals should bestow their services upon any other in- 
dividuals who should happen to need them. There are certain 
persons who by virtue of their relationship to me have a prior 
claim upon my attention. Admitting that all men are my 
kinsmen, still those of my immediate family, — wife, children, 
parents, brothers, and sisters, — are closer of kin than any others. 
A morality which overlooks this fact is guilty of a sentimental 
inversion of the true relations ; in calling all men ' brothers ' 
without distinction of degree, it substitutes a relatively meta- 
phorical kinship for the more genuine one. But something 
must depend also upon the character of the person with whom 
I am dealing. It is not a question merely of securing a return 
for services rendered. If this were the decisive element in the 
problem, the term ' self-sacrifice ' would have no genuine mean- 
ing. But surely I am not bound to consider to the same extent 
the interests of the rogue who would swindle me and of the 
friend who asks my help in time of need. 1 Nor, to state the 
point more narrowly, am I to the same degree bound to serve 
the pretended friend who regards me as a useful connection 
and the friend who has a genuine interest in myself and my 
welfare. Admitting again that all men are in a sense brothers, it 



1 A landlord who should grant an extension to a deserving tenant would 
merely be doing his duty, provided no other obligations were thereby neg- 
lected ; and it might be his duty to overlook a certain lack of desert, in the 
matter of previous forethought. But one who should grant indefinite exten- 
sions to the shiftless and irresponsible, would be doing, not more than his duty, 
but less. Granting that he did not endanger the fulfilment of his own obliga- 
tions, he would still be creating conditions of competition unjust to other land- 
lords. And, aside from this, is it not true that the mental attitude which is 
careless about the collection of debts is likely to be equally careless about pay- 
ing them? 



362 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

must still be true that those who are bound to me by sympathy 
are in a more genuine sense my brothers than those bound to 
me by self-interest ; and so far as my duty to my neighbour rests 
upon the principle of human unity, the former have a superior 
claim to my services. 

What is then my duty to my neighbour ? What has just been 
said seems to bring us back to the vulgar rule of loving your 
friends and hating your enemies. And this is not far removed 
from the ancient rule of ' an eye for an eye and a tooth 
for a tooth/ which is now repudiated by all enlightened per- 
sons. But the ancient rule has a certain degree of justification, 
— at any rate so far as it recognises the duty of discrimination. 
Of course no decent man will nurse the feeling of hatred 
toward any one ; and every more generous man would prefer to 
live not only at peace but in relations of brotherly sympathy 
with all his neighbours. But each of us finds his capacity for 
sympathy limited. Granting that from an ideal standpoint one's 
sympathies ought to be ' as broad as humanity itself,' still you 
have to recognise the fact that they cannot be extended indefi- 
nitely without losing some of their substance. And my capac- 
ity for active service is still more limited. Recognising these 
limits, it is evident that in serving others I must exercise a cer- 
tain discrimination between those who are well disposed toward 
me and those who are ill disposed. Though I may not in any 
case hate my enemy, nor, except under the necessity of self- 
preservation, do him any injury, yet it is clear that the friend 
who loves me deserves more of my service than the enemy who 
hates me. The difference between the moral man and the 
immoral man is here, as everywhere, a difference of attitude. 
The moral attitude presupposes a desire to extend the relations 
of generosity and brotherly kindness as widely as possible. 
Granting that my attitude toward others must be regulated by 
theirs toward me, and that it will be necessary to regard some 
persons as relatively unworthy of consideration, and to refuse to 
sacrifice my interests for their benefit, still if I am a genuinely 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 363 

moral man, I will see to it that this necessity is not due to a 
want of generosity on my part. I shall endeavour not merely 
to return as much service and good will as I receive but to give 
more — and as much more as, in justice to all my duties, I am 
capable of giving. 

4. PERSONAL DUTIES 

(a) The Obligations of Honour 

The foremost and most difficult problem from the stand- 
point of personal morality is that of the obligations of honour. 
A man of high moral sense is tempted to assume that with 
regard to honour no problem exists, and to hold that a man 
must be strictly and absolutely honourable under all circum- 
stances. And our naive common sense gives a certain support 
to his position by its tendency to make the regard for truth an 
absolute duty, — a duty which must in all cases be fulfilled to 
the letter without regard to the consequences to follow. We 
feel that veracity is so fundamental an element in the moral 
life that we fear to tamper with it by admitting the neces- 
sity of any qualifications. And yet, it seems, when we 
extend our view beyond the more ordinary requirements of 
truth and honour, and endeavour to arrive at a full appreciation 
of all that the conceptions demand, we find that we cannot 
any longer fulfil these obligations in their complete and 
unqualified sense. Our common conception of truth-telling 
relates chiefly to overt utterance ; and our common conception 
of honesty is an expression of the established rules of commer- 
cial honesty. But the demands of an ideal of honour are far 
more exacting than those recognised by the conventional stand- 
ards. We do not fulfil the obligations of truth by merely refrain- 
ing from the overt utterance of falsehood. No doubt the 
utterance of a lie is more repulsive to our moral sense than 
mere silence. And it is usually the greater crime j for more 
commonly it is the expression of a certain willingness to de- 
ceive. But silence has its own positive implications \ and 



364 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

when a question is raised, a silence which allows a misconcep- 
tion to pass is hardly less an act of deceit than the utterance 
of a falsehood. Nor do we fulfil the obligations of honour, in 
any complete sense, by merely paying our just debts, refrain- 
ing from the misrepresentation of goods offered for sale, and 
fulfilling the obligations which we have voluntarily and ex- 
pressly contracted. The question of honour is involved in 
every act of our lives. A clergyman, or a teacher of economics 
or philosophy, who holds certain advanced views not revealed 
in the pulpit or class room fails, in the strict sense, to meet the 
obligations of honour. A physician is not strictly honourable 
when he hesitates to speak openly to a wealthy patient with 
regard to his imaginary ills. And an artist is not strictly 
honourable when he sacrifices his ideals of art to secure recog- 
nition. But the problem is not confined to the professional 
and, in a general sense, educational activities. Whatever a 
man does involves the implication of something as true or false. 
When an employee is respectful in his behaviour to an employer 
whom he despises, his attitude contains a false implication; 
it is a misrepresentation of his real beliefs and sentiments. 
When, for the sake of avoiding a disagreeable scene, I extend 
the forms of courtesy to a man whom I regard as unworthy of 
social recognition, I am again, in the strict sense, untruthful. 
And for that matter, I am not strictly truthful when I strain my 
resources, and draw upon the funds set aside for an emergency, 
in order to present a conventionally reputable appearance ; 
such action amounts really to a claim to resources which I do 
not possess. We do not dispose of the question of honour by 
saying that these are mere forms, without real meaning, which 
therefore do not deceive any one ; for no forms are wholly 
meaningless. Granting that, when I go through the form of 
respect to my employer, every one, including the employer 
himself, knows it to be a mere form, still the fulfilment of the 
formal requirement means that, for some reason, I dare not 
express my real sentiments, — in other words ? that I dare 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 365 

not be absolutely truthful. And a lie is not less a lie 
because it is commonly known to be such. It appears, then, 
that a complete fulfilment of the obligations of honour would 
involve an absolute sincerity and openness in every act per- 
formed. Our external action with regard to men and things 
would be a complete and unqualified expression of our internal 
sense of value. 

When we thus complete our definition of honour, it seems 
clear that a complete fulfilment of its obligations is more than any 
of us can accomplish. A man who should set out to be abso- 
lutely open and sincere in all his dealings would arrive nowhere. 
However disinterested his attitude might be, however free from 
self- approbation or censoriousness, however impersonal, he could 
still not avoid giving constant offence. Few of us have the 
breadth of view to appreciate an impersonal attitude. One 
who has it in his power to do another good or ill as he may 
choose usually demands a certain deference — a certain superior 
respect for himself as compared with the respect shown for 
others — without regard to his individual merits. Even those 
who hold abstractly that ' business is business ' are usually not 
free from this weakness. One who were not to some degree a 
respecter of persons would find almost no one ready to deal 
with him. Few persons would buy of him or employ him, and 
few would serve him as a friend. In short, he would find it 
hardly possible to exist, much less accomplish any useful pur- 
pose in his life. And even if he could control the conditions of 
existence, it is a question how far the practice of absolute sin- 
cerity would be really desirable. No doubt it is for the good 
of men generally that such should ultimately be established as 
the universal practice. And certainly it is the duty of each of 
us to do what we can individually toward bringing about this 
end. But while aiming immediately at our ulterior end we 
may fail to take the intermediate steps necessary for its realisa- 
tion. This is what happens when we attempt to put an absolute 
standard of honour and truthfulness immediately into practice 



366 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

without regard to existing conditions. We raise questions that 
are not immediately pressing, provoke discussions and antago- 
nisms that could be dealt with more profitably later, and in the 
meantime we diminish our capacities for dealing with the imme- 
diate and more imperative aspects of our life problem. 

A conscientious man will be guided, then, in his regard for 
honour, by the extent to which the strictly honourable attitude 
may be sustained and rendered effective. He will have to con- 
sider, among other things, his capacity for endurance and the 
extent to which the endurance of hardship is on the whole 
profitable. A man who fails carefully to estimate the sacrifices 
which truth will demand, and his ability to make them, may 
commit himself to an attitude of so high a pitch as to bring 
about a complete moral collapse when it comes to the real test, 
— than which nothing could be more disastrous either for the 
cause of truth or in its effect upon the individual character. 
We tend commonly to assume that a truly virtuous man would 
sacrifice everything, even life itself, in the cause of truth ; and 
in view of the more common tendency of men to sacrifice honour 
to gain, the assumption has a certain legitimate meaning. But 
surely a man ought not to stake his life and happiness upon any 
issue that may arise, simply because one side of the question is 
the side of truth. How far I am called upon to take a stand in 
a particular case will depend upon how far the matter in ques- 
tion is properly my own affair. In a certain ultimate sense the 
cause of truth is the affair of every moral agent as such ; but 
there are specific aspects of it which are more immediately the 
affair of particular individuals. As a human being I have a 
certain duty with regard to political and religious liberty in 
Turkey or in China ; but as an American citizen my more imme- 
diate and imperative duties lie nearer home. For that matter, 
the most imperative of my political duties will lie, generally 
speaking, immediately in my own city or village. Now a man 
who is seeking for martyrdom in the cause of truth, as an 
object in itself, will have no difficulty in attaining his object. 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 367 

He need only set out, alone and unassisted, to supervise the 
elections in some of the slum districts of our large cities. But 
the value of such sacrifice will depend wholly upon the extent 
of his individual influence, upon the immediate and relative 
importance of the matter at issue, and upon his relation to it. 
As leader of an important movement it may be my duty at a 
crisis, when the question has clearly come to an issue, to sup- 
port the movement at the risk of my life ; but as an obscure 
citizen, whose influence is not widespread, or as a citizen of 
an alien community, and hence not naturally interested, the 
sacrifice may be a criminal waste of effort. 

In all of our efforts in the cause of truth we have to consider 
the possibility of recognition. That an expression of truth may 
be effective it must be at least within the range of appreciation 
of those to whom it is addressed. A man who insists upon a 
point of view beyond the range of appreciation wastes his 
efforts, and the result is worse than a mere waste if he simply 
arouses a blind antagonism. It is of course inevitable that 
antagonism will be aroused in any effort to introduce more 
advanced ideas, and it is through antagonism and discus- 
sion that new ideas are analysed and their value made clear ; 
but antagonism may be aroused in such a way as merely to 
shock the prevailing sentiment and to retard the recognition 
of the higher ideas. This is not to say, however, that our insist- 
ence upon the truth should be adjusted to the greatest range 
of appreciation ; for we find that, on the contrary, all successful 
movements begin with the determined attitude of a small 
minority. Nor is it meant to urge the comfortable argument 
of the privileged classes that it is a crime to arouse discon- 
tent ; for, with men as they are, it is only through discontent 
that they come to work for better conditions. It means rather 
that, taking all these facts into consideration, we have to deter- 
mine the order in which the introduction of higher moral 
standards may most profitably be attempted. Every higher 
and broader grasp of truth is based upon the apprehension of 



368 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

certain truths leading up to it. If you are seeking to overcome 
ignorance and prejudice, and to lead your fellow-men to broader 
views and more generous ideals, you must begin with a state- 
ment which will at least be intelligible from the point of view at 
which they now stand. It is a waste of effort to insist upon 
your highest (though for you the only true) ideal in circles whose 
ideals are much more elementary. You may, in a measure, 
embody the higher ideal in your individual practice, and thus 
indirectly contribute to the elevation of the standard of the 
community. But there is a limit to which even this is prac- 
ticable or profitable. There is a point beyond which the diffi- 
culties attending even the individual practice of the ideal involve 
an expenditure of effort which might be better devoted to more 
immediately imperative problems. 

Our common sense, while hesitating to recognise the possi- 
bility of making exceptions to the rule of sincerity, tends at the 
same time to make certain qualifications in favour of those with 
whom we stand in more intimate relations and of those also 
who are intrinsically more respectable and trustworthy, judging 
it to be at any rate more criminal to lie to a virtuous man than 
to a rascal, to a friend than to a stranger. It seems to me that 
in this distinction we have at least the outline of a reasonable 
method for regulating our expression of truth so far as it is 
involved in our relations to individuals. There can be no 
doubt that one's intimate associates — wife, parents, friends 
— have a superior claim upon one not only for truthful- 
ness in the ordinary sense, but for genuine frankness. And 
this superior claim belongs in a sense to any one who has 
proved himself to be trustworthy, — not merely in the ordinary 
sense that he may be trusted with one's pocket-book, but 
in the higher sense that he may be counted upon to respect 
one's ideals and one's private aspirations, and to have in 
general a full appreciation of the responsibility involved in 
the acceptance of a confidence. In a word, such confidence 
belongs, by virtue of his character alone, to one who has proved 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 369 

himself to be, in the true sense, a man of honour and a gentle- 
man. 

If all the world were composed of gentlemen, in this sense, 
there would be no excuse whatever, not alone for overt false- 
hood, but for the slightest measure of ' reserve ' with regard to 
our inner life. But clearly there are men who do not appre- 
ciate the responsibility of a confidence. And there are various 
degrees of appreciation. Many men, while respecting the 
rights and the sensibilities of a certain inner circle of family 
or class relations, have little respect for frankness and gener- 
osity as such, and will treat the naive confidence of a stranger 
more or less as an opportunity for coarse ridicule, if not for 
personal advantage ; accordingly, in dealing with those un- 
known to you it is necessary to be more or less on your guard. 
There are others who are insensible to the commoner obliga- 
tions of honour, who will use for their private advantage any 
information which may be given them, without regard to its 
confidential character, and some who will seek the bestowal 
of confidence as an opportunity for gaining such information. 
Evidently in our dealings with such men (and we cannot 
avoid dealing with them), it will be a matter of neces- 
sity, and also of duty, not only to be on our guard, but at times 
to practise positive deceit ; and in dealing with the worst of 
them it will sometimes be necessary to give the lie outright. 

We may then summarise our duty in the matter of honour 
in the conception offered by Kant. According to him, to lie 
to a man is to treat him as a means rather than an end, — in 
other words, to treat him as a creature unworthy of human 
consideration. Now it is evidently our duty to treat every 
human being with the highest possible consideration. And so 
a man with a high sense of honour would endeavour to treat 
every other man with the confidence due to an ideal human 
character. But there are some men who cannot be dealt with 
upon this basis. A man of honour, then, while admitting the 
necessity of making exceptions, would treat it as an unwelcome 

2B 



37o HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

necessity ; he would, if possible, strain a point to give all men 
the honourable treatment due to fully responsible persons, and 
where they proved to be unworthy, he would at least see that 
to no want of honour on his part was this unworthiness due. 1 

It is possible that in thus outlining the moral attitude toward 
truth, I may seem to have left open a wide possibility for the 
evasion of duty. And respect for truth is an element so funda- 
mental to genuine moral fibre that we are justified in regarding 
all discussion of it with a certain suspicion. But I think it will 
be found that the standard of honour just outlined is not only 
not lower than that commonly recognised by upright and honest 
men but, if anything, higher. We say commonly that a man's 
word should be as good as his bond. But according to my 
view it should be much better. A man who does not fear to 
tell an untruth more than he fears to lose the forfeit which 
would be required to secure his sincerity is not a very honest 
man. Nor is he a very honest man to whom a term of im- 
prisonment for perjury is more dreadful than the utterance of 
a lie under oath in a court of justice. What is here empha- 
sised is that honesty is a matter of degree, extending, let us 
say, from the perfect mutual transparency of thought and feel- 
ing which, under ideal conditions, exists between husband and 
wife, indefinitely downward past the very commonplace honesty 
of the grocer who refuses to mix sand with his sugar. And 
probably a careful self-examination on the part of strictly up- 
right men will only confirm its relative character ; for no intel- 
ligent man can deny that there are cases in which he cannot 
feel himself morally justified in being in the strictest sense 
truthful. The problem of honour becomes then a problem of 
determining what degree of honour a man can and ought to 
maintain, or, in other words, what attitude he ought to hold in 
the matter of honour. 

Now when you admit that it is a question of attitude, and 

1 See Martineau's treatment of veracity, Types of Ethical Theory, Part II, 
Book I, ch. vi., 6 12. 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 371 

that the possibilities of realising the ideal of honour will de- 
pend upon the existing conditions, you have certainly created 
an opportunity for one who is not strictly conscientious to 
make a large allowance for the difficulty of his conditions. 
But I do not believe it possible to frame a definition of the 
moral attitude of which this should not be true. We have 
here the same margin of uncertainty that was noted in con- 
nection with the social aspect of duty. You can state the 
general principle in a more or less definite manner, but its 
final application to an individual case is a matter of moral 
appreciation rather than of scientific statement. But for one 
who is really in earnest the higher and lower attitudes toward 
a particular situation may generally be distinguished, however 
difficult they may be to define. Admitting that we must make 
certain concessions to prejudice and ignorance, the concession 
made in the ultimate interest of the truth itself will differ 
widely from that made on behalf of selfish enjoyment. Nor 
will it be altogether impossible to apply our conception of the 
moral attitude to the conduct of others. We condemn certain 
sacrifices as wasteful and immoral, but we know that a genuine 
devotion to truth and honour will still as a rule necessitate a 
certain sacrifice both of material interests and of social sym- 
pathy. There are perhaps unreflective yet well-intentioned 
men who do not appreciate any considerable divergence 
between their duty and their immediate interests. But when 
we find a man of superior education, and presumably of a 
higher development of intelligence and moral insight, whose 
political and religious views are invariably such as to win the 
approbation of his fellows and to promote his private interests, 
we are justified in the conclusion that his regard for truth is at 
least suspicious. 

(<£) Self-control 

Inasmuch as the element of self-control has been largely em- 
phasised in our account of the moral life, it will be well, in con- 



372 HEDONISM AND IDEALISM 

elusion, to make a brief summary of the moral attitude from 
this standpoint. Self-control, like each of the other virtues, 
becomes, when carefully denned, simply a special standpoint for 
the definition of morality as a whole ; and the standpoint of 
self-control is perhaps the most personal of all moral stand- 
points. Now it is evident that, on the one hand, the possibili- 
ties of self-control will depend upon a careful consideration 
of the conditions surrounding my action ; for example, I cannot 
expect to maintain an evenness of temper and an attitude of 
justice and reasonableness toward others if I am doing con- 
stant injury to my nerves and my digestion by over-indulgence 
in food and drink. But, on the other hand, it is evident that 
the possibility of self-control will depend upon the rigour 
of the personal ideal which I endeavour to realise, — in other 
words, upon the extent of moral responsibility which I assume. 
And it is clear that I am not capable of fulfilling an unlimited 
measure of responsibility. The situation is the same from a 
moral standpoint as when it is viewed from the narrower stand- 
point of accomplishing a maximum amount of work. I have 
certain capacities for bodily labour, nervous strain and moral 
courage ; and the problem before me is to realise these capac- 
ities to their utmost in the form of sustained moral growth. It 
is well perhaps that these capacities should not be too nar- 
rowly estimated, for upon trial they frequently prove to be broader 
than anticipated. We often find that the more responsibility we. 
undertake, the more our courage rises to meet it. Nevertheless 
it is folly to assume that our capacity for endurance has no 
limits. If we ignore its limits and undertake a task too great 
for us, there is danger of moral prostration ; and the reaction 
from a courage too highly pitched and too lightly calculated 
may be a permanent condition of moral helplessness and cow- 
ardice. The responsibility assumed must thus be carefully 
regulated. Between a too narrow and ignoble estimate of our 
moral capacity and a too highly strung effort to transcend our 
capacity, there is a certain constant adjustment of responsibility 



CONCRETE ILLUSTRATIONS 



373 



and capacity most favourable for a maximum of sustained 
growth. The man who arrives at this adjustment most nearly 
and maintains it most constantly, is he who best fulfils the 
demands of a genuine moral life. 



INDEX 



Acquired characteristics, inheritance of, 
1 02 ff. 

Activity, mind as, 233; organised and 
free, 310 ff. 

Addams, Jane, 29, note. 

^Esthetic, and moral, 114, 166, 269, 371 ; 
theory of conduct, 165 ; pleasure, 251 ; 
taste in fashion, 274 ; and practical- 
real, 312, note. 

Altruism, 8o, note, 225. 

Animism, 241. 

Apperception theory, 231 ff. 

Appreciation, conduct as a matter of, 
166, 371. 

Art, as estimated by hedonism, 50, 63, 
by idealism, 198, by cultivated men, 
250 ; and science, 166 ; intrinsic val- 
ues in, 215. 

Association theory, 97 ff., 231 ff. ; law 
of association, 97 ; tends to ignore 
consciousness, 107. 

Authority, moral, the problem of Kant, 

174. 
Automatic, action, 196, 230; life, 2041!. 
Automatism, see Mechanism. 
Automaton, man as an, 292. 
Average man, advantages of, 146. 

B 

Benevolence, rule of, 168. 

Bentham, notes on pp. 43, 44, 49, 51, 
52,78,80,89, no, 133; 314. 

Berkeley, 240. 

Biology, alternative theories of, 101, 
235 ; and psychology, 101. 

Bodily selves, interests of, as conflict- 
ing, 83, 210, 280; not independent, 
154, 216. 

Body, as self, 83, 191 ff. ; ideas and 



feelings of, the only permanent ele- 
ments in consciousness, 191. 

Bradley, F. H., 135, note. 

Brain, as organised register, 75, 108. 

Breadth of life, 65 ff., 115. 

Brotherhood, of man, as determining 
the moral attitude, 359, 361 ; genuine 
and metaphorical, 361. 

Business relations, problem of, 23; 
defined, 139, 264, 267, note ; hedon- 
ism applicable to, 139 ff. ; application 
of idealism to, 267 ; moral attitude in, 
350, 354- 



Categorical imperative, 177 ff. 

Cause, hedonistic view, 98 ; of conduct, 
not purpose, sought by hedonism, 
204 ; idealistic view, 231. 

Caveat emptor, rule of business, 268. 

Chastity, hedonistic justification of, 48, 
63, criticised, 121 ; degrees of, 113. 
See also Marriage. 

Citizenship, duties of, 342, and duty to 
society as individual, 348; larger 
opportunity offered by, 357. 

Clearness and comprehensiveness, 
reconcilable theoretically, 289, 304, 
but not practically, 303. 

Coercion, not effective with rational 
beings, 223 ; hedonistic and idealistic 
attitudes toward, 225. 

Cognition, alternative views, 98, 231. 
See also Knowledge. 

Collectivism, 91, 222. 

Commercial, integrity, 23, 267; rela- 
tions, see Business relations. 

Common sense, defined, 12 : concep- 
tion of selfishness, 84; recognises 
relativity of moral values, 112, 170; 



375 



376 



INDEX 



recognises antithesis of pleasure and 
purpose, 203. 

Common-sense scale, 112; and hed- 
onism, 118 ; social aspect of, 138 ; and 
idealism, 245. 

Communism, 223. 

Complex adjustment and conscious- 
ness, 291. 

Comprehensiveness, see Clearness and 
comprehensiveness. 

Conditions, see Ideals and conditions. 

Conduct, biological and physical views 
of (Spencer), 61; common rules of, 
inconsistent, 167. 

Confidence in others, as a duty, 226, 
368 ; how far practicable, 270. 

Conflict of interests due to our physical 
nature, 83, 210, 281. 

Conscience, pleasures of, 144 ; popular 
conception of, 162. 

Consciousness, tends to be ignored by 
hedonism, 108 ; and self-conscious- 
ness, 185 ; and self-control, 185 ; and 
self-identity, 196 ; and readjustment, 
196, 242 ; and complexity of adjust- 
ment, 291. 

Consumers' League, 357, note. 

Contradictions of concrete thought, 301, 
316 ; due to human limitations, 303. 

Control, of environment and self-con- 
trol, 258 ; evolution as a process of 
extending, 307. 

Cooperation, advantages of, 79 ; scar- 
city of goods due to lack of, 283; 
and social equilibrium, 300; and 
individual duty, 359. 

Cosmology, hedonistic, 109 ; idealistic, 

239. 

Critical adjustment, defined, 288. 

Cultivated man, attitude toward per- 
sonal capacity, 245, honesty, 247, 
marriage, 248, self-preservation, 249, 
culture, 250 ; relations of, as personal, 
264. See also Gentleman. 

Culture, and morality, 114; and ma- 
terial welfare, 118, 250, 282. 



Death, problem of, 229. 
Descartes, 13. 



Desert, hedonistic conception of, 91. 

Determinism, 100. 

Dewey, J., 319, 320. 

Diplomacy, as a duty, 278. 

Direct equilibration, 70. 

Duty, and pleasure, 46 ff., 117 ff. ; and 
self-preservation, 63 ; and self-inter- 
est, 80 ff., 139 ff. ; for Kant the sig- 
nificant feature of morality, 173 ; as 
self-realisation, 197 ff. ; idealistic view 
of social, 224 ff. ; and self-realisation, 
263 ff.; and self-respect, 265; and 
respect for others, 270 ; and the im- 
personal attitude, 276. 



Economic conditions not unchange- 
able, 356. 

Economics and ethics, 8, 18, 342. 

Egoism, and altruism, 80, note, 225; 
equivalent to hedonism, 86. 

Elements, mental, 98, 192. 

Ends, and means correlative, 7, 257, 
294 ; treating men as, 179, 183. 

Energism, 32. 

Energy, conservation of, 14; organic, 
298. 

Enthusiast, the, 335. 

Environment, conformity to, 68 ff. ; di- 
rect action of, 70 ; as the determinant 
of evolution, 72, 106; minimised 
by idealism, 239; as the limitation 
of self-consciousness, 243, 258, 
308. 

Equality, right of, no basis in hedon- 
ism, 88. 

Equilibrium, outlook for future, 125 ff., 
148 ff. ; Spencer's conception, 126; 
hedonistic life an, 204 ff. ; social, and 
social organism, 299. 

Epicureanism, 32. 

Epicurus, 314. 

Ethics, defined, 6 ; and technical stud- 
ies, 6, 7; as a normative study, 
7; and economics, 8, 18, 342; and 
psychology, 8, 17 } practical value, 8 ; 
presupposes an objective standard, 
11 ; as a science, 15 ; as philosophy, 
16 ; the expression of temperament 
and philosophical attitude, 16, 33; 



INDEX 



377 



and logic, 18 ; and sociology, 19, 77 ; 
and evolutionary theory, 58. 

Eudaemonism, 38, note. 

Evolution, ethics and theory of, 58 ; of 
conduct, hedonistic view, 61; Spen- 
cer's system, 68 ff. ; no ultimate limit 
to, 149, 318 ; incompatible with 
Kant's rational being, 207; positive 
standpoint for, 306 ; as a process of 
extending control, 307 ; denned, 308 ; 
of knowledge, 309; of will, 310; of 
moral problem, 313 ff. 



Fame, love of, 85. 

Family life, essential to human type, 
122; impersonal attitude illustrated 
in, 277. 

Fashionable distinction, 273. 

Favoured classes, attitude of, 90, 357. 

Fechner, 288. 

Feeling, as the end of action, 86, 144, 
211; Kant's view, 176. 

Fine art, conduct as a, 166* 

Food impulse, 134, 296. 

Free will, 100, 233. 

* Friendly transaction,' defined, 268. 

Function, denned, 221. 

Future, not always to be preferred to 
present, 38 ; increase of pleasure im- 
probable, 125 ff., 149; regard for, 
presupposes self-identity, 200 ff. 



Generalisation, capacity for, as a meas- 
ure of intellect, 304. 

Gentleman, defined, 264; 'friendly 
transaction between,' 268 ; attitude 
of, toward others, 276 ; honour tow- 
ard, 279, 368 ; society of, 280, 369. 
See also Cultivated man. 

Germ plasm, theory of, 102 ff., 235; a 
teleological function, 237. 

God, idealistic view of, 241 ; the mind 
of, 304. 

Golden Rule, 180. 

Good, distribution of, as related to its 
nature, 30 ; human, as realised good, 
334- 

Good faith, rule of, 167. 



Greatest happiness, on the whole, 86 ff. ; 

irrelevant to ' greatest number,' 88. 
Greece, culture of, rested upon slave 

labour, 282, note. 
Green, T. H., 171. 

H 

Habit, and consciousness, 196; alter- 
native views of, 230. 

Happiness, and pleasure, 38, note. See 
Pleasure. 

Health, and pleasure, 61 ; as a measure 
of the pleasures of conscience, 144 ; 
physical and moral, 337; moral and 
social, 337 ff. 

Hedonism, defined, 31,37; the modern 
epicureanism, 32 ; psychological ba- 
sis, 38 ; method, 39, 95 ; pleasure as 
sense-pleasure, 44; pleasure and 
duty, 46 ; justification of honour, 47, 
temperance and chastity, 48, liberty, 
49, science, 49, art, 50 ; theory of art, 
50 ; distinction of virtue and vice, 51 ; 
literature of, 56, note ; difficulties of 
empirical theory, 59; evolutionary 
theory, 60 ; system of evolution, 68 ff. ; 
' scientific ' basis of evolutionary 
theory, 74; theory of social sympa- 
thy, 78, 120; of social duty, 79; of 
selfishness, 79 ; relation of self-inter- 
est and duty, 80 ; conception of self- 
interest, 81, 191 ; of self, 83, 190, 195, 
209 ; presupposes scarcity of supply, 
84; identical with egoism, 86; rela- 
tion of self-interest and the greatest 
happiness on the whole, 86; offers 
no basis for equal rights, 88; intel- 
lectual power proportioned to desire 
for pleasure, 89; view of desert, 91. 
of society, 91, 212 ; both collectivism 
and individualism, 91; standpoint 
and method, 95, 99, 312; rests upon 
associational psychology, 97 ; theory 
of cognition, 98, of will, 99; related 
to determinism, 100; biological 
theory, 101 ; and Lamarckianism, 
104; tends to ignore consciousness, 
107, 192 ; and materialism, 108 ; cos- 
mology, 109; progress ultimately un- 
real, 109 ; a mechanical theory, in ; 



378 



INDEX 



truth of, as against intuitionism, 119; 
arguments for honesty, chastity, and 
liberty criticised, 119 ff.; positive value, 
129, 150; range of validity, 131, 139; 
unit of value inadequate, 134, 154; 
practical value, 135, 256 ; opposed to 
sentimentalism, 135; basis of present 
political organisation, 156; and utili- 
tarianism, 31, 162, 314; and ration- 
alism, 187; view of self-identity, 192 ; 
seeks cause, not purpose, of conduct, 
204 ; the hedonistic life, 204 ; distinc- 
tion of individuals, 209 ; individual 
interests mutually invidious, 210; 
advocates coercion, 225; theory of 
habit, instinct, reflex act, voluntary 
choice, 231 ; argument for self-pres- 
ervation criticised, 249 ; the expres- 
sion of organised wants, 312. 

Hedonism and idealism, as types of 
theory, 32; combined view, 261, 284, 
287; as regulative hypotheses, 304, 
321 ; a contrast of attitude toward 
the existing crisis, 313. 

Helvetius, 44, note, no, note. 

Heredity, unity of race shown in, 217. 

Honesty, see Honour. 

Honour (including Honesty, Veracity, 
Sincerity), many meanings of, 9; 
problem of professional, 21, of sin- 
cerity, 26 ; hedonistic justification of, 
47, 63, criticised, 119; 'honesty the 
best policy,' 80, examined, 140; 
grades of, 113, 370; and sympathy, 
120, 247; idealistic motive in, 247; 
demands of, how far practicable, 265 
ff. ; sense of, likened to aesthetic 
sense, 269; as a basis for invidious dis- 
tinction, 273 ; toward gentlemen and 
others, 279, 368 ; strictly defined, 363 ; 
complete fulfilment of demands im- 
possible, 365; obligation depends 
upon agent's relation to issue, 366; 
upon possibility of recognition, 367; 
summary of moral attitude toward, 
369 ; test of, 371. 

Human anatomy, as life purpose 
objectified, 295. 

Humanities, 265. 

Hume, 8q, note, 84, note, 121, note. 



Ideal aspirations and material needs, 
"5. 3 J o. 

Ideals and conditions, conflict of, 29; 
mutual reference of, 7, 257 ; recon- 
cilable a priori, 313, but not empiri- 
cally, 302, 316. 

Idealism, defined, 31; the modern 
stoicism, 32, 173, 226; standpoint 
and method, 96, 228 ; stages of de- 
velopment, 161 ; conception of self, 
193, 212, of self-activity, 194; self 
and environment, 194, 233 ; view of 
self-interest, 195; self-activity as 
conscious activity, 196; self-realisa- 
tion, defined, 197; attitude toward 
marriage, choice of occupation, art, 
literature, 198; as an evolutionary 
theory, 207 ; conception of individual, , 
212 ; development of self and social 
sympathy, 213; view of race unity, 
213 ff. ; of individuality, 219 ; of so- 
ciety, 220 ; neither individualism nor 
collectivism, 222; view of social 
duty, 224; social attitude imper- 
sonal, 226; system of psychology, 
230; view of habit, instinct, reflex 
act, and voluntary choice, 231 ; of 
cognition, 231 ; psychology apper- 
ceptional, 231 ; view of cause, 231, 
of experience, 232 ; mind an activity, 
233; and free will, 233; biological 
implications, 235 ff. ; minimises the 
environment, 239; subjective, 240; 
objective, 241 ; and animism, 241 ; 
and theology, 241 ; place of man in 
nature, 242; external conditions un- 
real, 243 ; and common-sense scale, 
245 ; in honour, marriage, self-pres- 
ervation, culture, 248 ff. ; in social 
problem, 251 ff . ; view of self 
criticised, 256 ff. ; disregard of con- 
ditions criticised, 257, 283 ; tends 
toward sentimentalism, 258; social 
theory true of personal relations 
and higher culture, 264 ff. ; idealistic 
society presupposes leisure, 280 ; con- 
ception of social unity criticised, 
283 ; claims scarcity of supply to be 



INDEX 



379 



unreal, 283 ; the expression of unor- 
ganised wants, 313 ; a relatively 
poetic theory, 313; and socialism, 

343- 

Impersonal attitude, as the rational 
attitude, 226; and duty, 277. 

Individual, not coterminous with his 
body, 154, 216 ; hedonistic conception 
of, 209; interests as invidious, 210; 
only bodily, separate, 210 ; idealistic 
conception of, 212 ; tendencies of race 
inherent in, 218; as a social func- 
tion, 221; self realised in social life, 
222. 

Individualism, 91, 222. 

Individuality, idealistic view of, 219; 
and self-consciousness, 220. 

Inner and outer relations, 68. 

Instinct, development of, 101 ; many ap- 
parently disinterested, 105 ; of work- 
manship, 216 ; alternative theories of, 
231. 

Intellect, as proportioned to desire for 
pleasure, 89; and moral sense, 114. 

Intellectual integrity, problem of, 21, 
266. 

Intellectualism in Kant's psychology, 
181. 

International relations, idealism ap- 
plied to, 272. 

Intrinsic, character of social values, 
214 ; value related to desire, 215 ; 
superiority and invidious distinction, 
274. 

Intuitionism, hedonistic argument valid 
against, 119; defined, 161; forms of, 
162 ; perceptional, 162 ; aesthetic, 165 ; 
dogmatic, 167. 

Invidious, character of bodily desires, 
210; distinction, implied in superior 
intrinsic value, 273 ff., less desired 
by cultivated men, 275. 

J 

James, W., 102, 236, note. 

Justice, rule of, 168 ; retrospective, 346. 



Kant, 13, 88, ioi, 171, 173 ff., 206, 223, 
924, 244, 247, 304. 



Kingdom of ends, 177, 223. 

Knowledge, desire for universal, 251 ; 
and control of conditions, 259 ; scien- 
tific, 302 ; evolution of, 309 ; and will, 
312. See also Cognition. 



Lamarckian theory, 102 ff., 235. 

Leibnitz, 13. 

Length and breadth of life, 65 ff., 115. 

Liberty, right of, 25 ; hedonistic justifi- 
cation of, 49, criticised, 123 ; idealistic 
motive in, 252 ff. 

Life, right of, 25 ; higher valuation of, 
246, 249. 

Literature, cultivation of, as a duty, 49, 
198, 250. 

Logic and ethics and psychology, 18. 

Luxury, defined, 116. 

M 

Man, of pleasure, 40, 203 ; of principle, 
177 ; and God, 241 ; and nature, 242. 

Market value and pleasure value, 132, 
139 ff., 146. 

Marriage, problem of, 27; animal and 
human, 124; idealistic attitude 
toward, 198, 248. 

Martineau, 169 ff. 

Material needs, 115, 310; relative, 115; 
as organised wants, 132, 310. 

Material welfare, and pleasure, 45 ; as 
a basis of moral culture, 118, 280. 

Mechanical, hedonism as a, theory, in ; 
and rational, 184; theory inconsis- 
tent with stability of germ plasm, 236 ; 
and purposive, distinguished, 290. 

Mechanical and teleological stand- 
points, 95 ff., 228 ff. ; unity of, con- 
ceivable but not attainable, 289 ff, 
301 ff, 315 ff. ; conceivably recon- 
ciled in the mind of God, 304. 

Mechanism, common view of, 292. 

Mechanism and consciousness, 185, 
196, 242, 318 ; conceptions ultimately 
complementary, 290. 

Metaphysics, 14, 289. 

Mezes, S. E., 15. 

Mill, J. S., 37, 52, 59, 78, note, 109, 126, 
133, note. 



3&> 



INDEX 



Moneyed classes, attitude of, 90. 

Moral, and unmoral, 3; and useful, 3; 
impulses, associational view of, 100 ; 
values, relativity of, 112; character 
as a growth, 113; and aesthetic, 114, 
166, 269 ; sense and intellect, 114 ; and 
social distinctions, 117 ; authority, the 
problem of Kant, 174; law as law 
of reason and self, 174, as law of 
nature, 176 ; culture and wealth, 280 ; 
situation reviewed, 323 ff. ; health, 
337 ff. 

Moral attitude, a constant readjust- 
ment, 322 ; defined, 335 ; toward so- 
cial problem, 342 ff., 356, unearned 
rewards, 349, wealth, 352; lowest 
possible and highest effective, 356; 
as determined by human brother- 
hood, 359; toward individuals, 360; 
as self-control, 371. 

Moral problem, 29; not completely 
soluble, 288 ; evolution of, 313 ; con- 
cretely stated, 333; permanence of, 

315. 345- 
Morality, and culture, 114; higher and 

lower, 115; three grades of, 116; 

and material welfare, 118, 280. 
Mutual understanding, conditions of, 

271. 

N 

Natural selection, 70 ff., 102. 
Nature, man's place in, 241. 
Neighbour, my duty to my, 360. 
Newton, 13, 58. 
Nirvana, 203. 
Normal life, the, 337 ff. 
Normative study, ethics as a, 7. 

O 

Objective, standard of ethics, 11, of 
pleasure, 41; idealism, 241. 

Obligation based on self-interest, 150, 
277 ; on reason and self (Kant) , 174 ; 
on law of nature (Kant), 176; on 
consciousness, 186 ; on self-identity, 
190, 200. 

Occupation, problems of, 21 ; hedonistic 
method of choosing, 152; the most 
profitable, often the most useful, 156; 
idealistic attitude toward, 198 ; de- 



velopment of interest in, 213 ; higher 
and lower attitudes toward, 246. 

Official duty, problem of, 24. 

Optimistic view of moral conflict, 319 ff. 

Organic, unity implies diversity of 
function, 153, 301, defined, 199, of 
self basis of responsibility for future, 
200 ff. ; energy and welfare, 298. 

Organisation, of social relations, de- 
grees of, 139 ff, 267, note ; develop- 
ment of social, 149, 150; present 
political, mainly hedonistic, 157 ; evo- 
lution as a process of, 308 ff. ; of 
science and wants, 310; of activities, 
311; present social, fulfils important 
needs, 344. 

Organism, society the only real, 220. 
See Organic unity. 

Organism and environment, 68, 72 ff, 
102 ff, 235 ff. See also Self and 
Environment. 

Oriental philosophy, 203, 319. 

' Ought,' feeling of, 4. 



Paley, 45, 151, note. 

Paulsen, F., 32. 

Payment of services, 354. 

Perfectionism, 32. 

Permanence of moral problem, 315; 
bearing on present situation, 345. 

Personal, duties, not always justified 
by self-interest, 143; relations de- 
fined, 264, 267, note; capacity, re- 
sponsibility for, 245, 358; identity, 
see Self-identity. 

Personality, consciousness the princi- 
ple of, 196 ; society the only real, 221. 

Pessimistic view of moral conflict, 320. 

Philosophy, defined, 13; related to 
temperament, 16, 33. 

Physics, as an independent science, 
14; as a highly organised science. 

309- 
Pleasure (including Happiness), and 
happiness, 38, note; popular and 
scientific conceptions of, 40 ff. ; units 
of, 42; and blood-pressure, 43; 
equivalent to sense-pleasure, 44 ; and 
duty, 46 ; quantity and quality of, 52, 



INDEX 



38l 



67, 115; and duty, equation of, as 
guaranteed by natural law, 60, 75; 
too complex for direct calculation, 
60; and self-preservation, 61 ; desire 
for, a desire to enjoy, 87 ; future in- 
crease of, improbable, 125 ff., 148 ff., 

317 ff. ; and market value, 132; of 
conscience, 144; and satisfaction, 
144; and self-realisation, 199; can- 
not serve as an end, 200 ; no sum 
total of, 201 ; future, no lien upon 
the present, 201; desire for, invidi- 
ous, 211 ; distinguished from desire 
for object, 211 ; no basis for sympathy 
in, 225 ; aesthetic, 251 ; and self- 
realisation, complementary concep- 
tions, 296; as substantial realisation, 
327; how far, admits of progress, 
328 ; and progress, unity impossible 
under human conditions, 330; and 
progress, adjustment of, 322 ff. 

Political, independence, problem of, 
28; present, organisation mainly 
hedonistic, 157 ; parties, 313. 

Principle, Kant's ethics a search for, 
172; man of, 177; 'of life,' a ideo- 
logical conception, 238. 

Private interests, respect for, 276 ff. 

Problem, as the basis of actual life, 

318 ; moral, see Moral problem. 
Profession, problems of, 21 ; successful 

dishonesty possible in the, 142. See 
also Occupation. 

Progress, ultimately unreal (hedonism) , 
109 ; postulated, 326 ; conditions of, 
328; irregularity of, 332; weighed 
against happiness, 334; maximum 
sustained, 334. 

Property, right of, 9, 25. 

Prostitution, chief evil of, 249. 

Proudhon, 92. 

Psychology, and ethics, 8, 17; and 
logic, 18 ; alternative systems of, 97, 
230; and biology, 101, 235, 239; 
Kant's, intellectualistic, 181. 

Purpose, as organic activity, 199; of 
conduct not sought by hedonism, 
204; of life not stated by idealism, 
256, 284 ; and mechanism, 290 ; clear 
Statement of, defined, 294, 



Quantitative method, method of hed- 
onism, 40; presupposes fixed stand- 
ard, 40, objective standard, 41, units, 
42; merely a guiding principle for 
hedonism, 43; results in sense- 
pleasure, 44; presupposed in evolu- 
tionary hedonism, 64; applied to 
self-interest, 82; justification of, 130 
ff., 153- 

Quantity of life, 64 ff. 

Quantity and quality of pleasure, 52, 
67, "5- 

R 

Rank and file, conditions among the, 
140, 253. 

Rational, and mechanical, 184; equiva- 
lent to conscious, 185 ; principle, as 
the principle of the universe, 186, 
242 ff. ; attitude, as developed 
through confidence, 227, 270. 

Rational being, community of, a social 
unity, 177, 223 ; of Kant interpreted, 
184, 186, the syllogism personified, 
206, not a psychological reality, 207, 
life of, an equilibrium, 207; not 
amenable to coercion, 223. 

Rationalism, defined, 32; the modern 
stoicism, 173; and self-realisation, 
183, 206; and hedonism, 187. 

Readjustment and consciousness, 186, 
196, 242. 

Reason, basis of obligation, 174; and 
feeling, 176; basis of social sym- 
pathy, 226 ; for things, defined, 229. 

Regulative hypotheses, hedonism and 
idealism as, 304, 321. 

Respect for others, and duty, 270 ; and 
self-respect, 272. 

Revolution, evils of, 345. 



Satisfaction and pleasure, 144. 

Scarcity of supply as determining so- 
cial relations, 84, note, 282 ff. 

Science, and philosophy, 13 ; ethics as 
a, 15, 131 ; method of, method of 
hedonism, 42, 96, 312 ; cultivation of, 
as a duty, 49, 63, 250 ; and evolution, 



382 



INDEX 






58; and art of conduct, 166; and 
teleological method, 229; denned, 
302; laws of, provisional, 302; de- 
velopment of, 309 ff. ; and theology, 
310. 

Self, hedonistic view, 83, 190, 195, 209 ; 
and obligation, 150, 174, 277 ; Kant's 
view of, 175 ; problem of, 189 ; ideal- 
istic view, 193, 212 ff. ; and self- 
realisation, 197; development of, 
and social sympathy, 213. 

Self and environment, 296 ff. ; hedo- 
nistic view, 68 ff., 101 ff., 108 ; ideal- 
istic view, 176, 194, 233, 235 ff., 242 ff. 

Self-activity, 189 ; hedonistic view, 191 ; 
idealistic view, 194; as conscious 
activity, 196. 

Self-consciousness, and consciousness, 
185, 196; development of, 212 ff. ; 
and individuality, 220; environ- 
mental limitations a lack of, 243,258, 
308. 

Self-control, and consciousness, 186; 
moral attitude as, 371. 

Self-identity, alternative views of, 192, 
193; and consciousness, 196; and 
responsibility for the future, 200 ff. 

Self-interest, and duty, hedonistic view, 
78 ff. ; examined, 139 ff. ; defined, 
81 ff., 191 ; and sense-pleasure, 83, 
87; and greatest happiness on the 
whole, 86 ff. ; basis of obligation, 
150, 174, 277 ; idealistic conception 
of, 195- 

Self-preservation, and pleasure, 61; 
and duty, 63 ; defined, 64 ; and de- 
mands of type, 124 ; duty of, 246, 249. 

Self-realisation, defined, 32, 197, 296; 
and rationalism, 183, 189; and 
pleasure, 199 ff. ; evolutionary view, 
207 ; never complete, 213 ; and duty, 
245 ff., 263 ff. 

Self-respect, and duty, 265 ; and respect 
for others, 272. 

Self-sacrifice, and social sympathy, 179, 
225 ; moral attitude toward, 360. 

Selfishness, 79, 84. 

Sentimentalism, hedonism opposed to, 
135 ; idealism tends toward, 258 ; and 
sensualism, 335. 



Sensualist, the, 335. 

Sense-pleasure, the hedonistic con- 
ception of pleasure, 44; and self- 
preservation, 61; and self-interest, 
83, 87; as substantial realisation, 

327- 

Seth, J., 38, note. 

Sexual, organisms not independent, 
216; impulse, animal and human, 
124, 297. 

Shaftesbury, 165. 

Sidgwick, H., 31, note, 43, note, 52, 
note, 234, note. 

Sincerity, see Honour. 

Single-taxers, 347. 

Smith, A., 121, 165. 

Social, welfare and self-interest, con- 
flict of, 30 ; duty, hedonistic view, 79, 
idealistic view, 224 ; and moral dis- 
tinctions, 117 ; equilibrium, outlook 
for, 148 ff. ; morality must distinguish 
individual claims, 152; machinery 
indispensable, 156; interest as in- 
trinsic, 214; organism and, equilib- 
rium, 299 ff. ; unity implies mutual 
determination, 301 ; health, illus- 
trated, 338 ; complexity of, organism, 
344; situation, present not excep- 
tional, 345 ; organisation, present 
not fully utilised, 346; advantage, 
responsibility of, 350, 359 ; duty as 
related to actual conditions, 359. 

Social problem, 25, 48 ; idealistic ele- 
ments in, 251 ff. ; and self-realisa- 
tion, 254; moral attitude toward, 
342 ff. 

Social sympathy, hedonistic theory of, 
78 ff. ; basis of, egoistic and sensu- 
ous (hedonism), 86; development 
of, idealistic view, 213 ff. ; as based 
on reason, 226 ; limited by space and 
time conditions, 271, 278. 

Socialism, 343, 344. 

Society, as an aggregate of units, 91 ff. ; 
hedonistic theory of, 91, 209 ff. ; as 
a composition of forces, 93 ; presup- 
poses diversity as well as unity, 152 ; 
Kant's theory of, 177; idealistic 
theory of, 220, examined, 278, 281 ; 
as an organism, 220 ; as a personal- 



INDEX 



383 



ity, 221 ; conditions of an idealistic, 
280. 

Sociology and ethics, 19, 77. 

Soul, conception of, 190. 

Span of attention, 303. 

Spencer, H., 61, note, 62, note, 65, 66, 
67, 68, 70, 71, 72, 75, 80, note, 93, 
note, 108, 126, 191, 299, 314, 331, 334. 

Spinoza, 31. 

Springs of action, table of, 169. 

Standard of conduct, 11, 12. 

Standpoint and method, possible choice 
of, 95 ; of hedonism, 39, 95, 312 ; of 
idealism, 228. 

State socialism, 223. 

Stephen, L., 8, 44, note, 135, note, 191, 
237, note, 330, note. 

Stoicism, 32, 173, 226. 

Sub-consciousness, 242. 

Subjective, idealism, 240; and objec- 
tive, ground of distinction of, 316. 

Substantial realisation, 327. 

Sustained, progress, 334; effort, moral 
significance of, 335. 

Sympathy, hedonistic view, 120 ; hon- 
esty a condition of, 120, 247 ; a fun- 
damental impulse, 121; happiness 
not a basis of, 225 ; favoured by com- 
fort, 281 ; as determining individual 
duty, 362. See also Social sympathy. 



Taylor, A. E., 16, note, 297, note. 
Teleology and science, 228. 
Temperament related to ethics and 

philosophy, 16, 33. 
Temperance, hedonistic justification 

of, 48. 



Theology, and idealistic philosophy, 
241 ; and science, 310. 

Thought, limitations of human, 303 ; 
evolution of, 309. 

Type, demands of, and self-preserva- 
tion, 124; conception of, teleologi- 
cal, 237. 

U 

Unearned rewards, moral attitude 
toward, 349. 

Unit, of pleasure, 42, 131 ff., presup- 
poses sense-pleasure, 46 ; hedonistic, 
inadequate, 134, 154. 

Unity of the world, postulated in phi- 
losophy, 287. 

Unmoral and moral, 3. 

Useful, and moral, 3; common con- 
ception of, narrow, 5. 

Utilitarianism, 31, 162, 314. 



Veblen, T., 216, 273, note. 

Veracity, rule of, 167 ff. See Honour. 

Virtue and vice, hedonistic distinction, 

Si- 

Vitalism, 239, note. 

Voluntary choice, alternative views of, 

231. 

W 
Wants, and ideals, 115, 310. 
Wealth, responsibility of, 353. 
Weismann, 102, 103, 104, 235. 
Will, hedonistic view, 99; idealistic 

view, 230 ff. ; evolution of, 310; and 

knowledge, 312 ; of God, as revealed 

in conscience, 163. 
Wundt, W., 8, note, 31, note. 



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